


With Ghosts At My Back

by britsmit28



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Character of Color, Mutual Pining, POV Lesbian Character, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Burn...I hope, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 76,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26504080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britsmit28/pseuds/britsmit28
Summary: Genevieve Tillman, an American transplant in Victorian London, lives an unassuming life filled with long days in a steel factory and nights in a mild tipsy stupor. But when her path crosses with the Frye twins, she’s quickly thrown back into the world she left behind years ago. Still grieving the tragic death of her parents and with a burning hatred of the Brotherhood in her heart, Genevieve must tackle her feelings head on as she grows closer to Evie Frye as they work together to keep a long buried secret away from grasping hands hidden in shadows and stained with blood.
Relationships: Evie Frye/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 87
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

The Rooks gather in the street, gesticulating to the Blighters who spill out of a warehouse. I feel the violent energy in the air. The hairs on my arm and the back of my neck stand as one of the thugs pulls a knife from the inside of their coat. The other innocent observers around me grimace, their eyes darting in search of shelter.

A gunshot fires into the air and panic takes over. I’m jostled, bumped into and pushed back as everyone save for the Rooks and Blighters look for covering. Falling on my, I cower as someone trips over me, their boot nearly catching my chin. A sharp pain explodes in my hand as another person steps on it, pressing down hard with their heel. I howl and cradle my hand close to my body. It’s difficult standing, but I manage to make it to my feet. Over the top of the crowd, I see the two gangs going hard at one another with knives, guns, planks of wood that they found discarded on the street.

I push my way through the crowd to a back wall and press tightly against it. One of the Blighter leaders emerges from the throngs of his men. He dons a bowl cap skewed on his head and the red in his coat is brighter and cleaner than the rest of his men. He chews the end of a cigar as he grabs a Rook by the scruff of their shirt and push them into a window, sending glass shards flying.

The Blighter is so caught up in manhandling his opponents, he fails to see the black mass drop down from the shadows. My breath catches in the back of my throat, but then my surprised look gives way to a frown.

_Assassin. Of course, they’re here._

I don’t feel sorry for the Blighter as the assassin stands and drives their hidden blade up in between his ribs. Blood spills out his mouth and by the time he’s on the ground, the assassin has scaled back up the side of the warehouse, slipping through an open window.

A man, with shaggy brown hair, stands on the hood of a carriage and cups his hands around his mouth. “Rooks! On me!” he says, lifting his cane into the air. The gang members roar and gather around him, stunning the Blighters. Tapping the carriage’s hood twice with the bottom of his cane, the man stands with a smirk as the Rooks charge at the remaining Blighters.

It’s a distraction. Something to hide the death of the Blighters’ leader until the assassin can escape the area. I look to the roof of the building see their outline move across the shingles, leaping across to another building.

Everything tells me to stay where I am. To ignore what I just saw and go about the rest of my day, tending to my hand and resting back at my room. But I need to know why the Brotherhood is so active here and what they plan to do.

Slipping into the darkness of an alley, I open and close my hand, testing the pain. It’s bearable. Then I look at the wall in front of me. I was decent at climbing and scaling buildings. But that was years ago, back in America when I was a child and teen.

Still, I needed answers.

My muscles grow warm and tight as I pull myself up and carefully find my footing. But soon, my body remembers the movements, easing back into familiar burn of climbing, though it’s been over ten years since I last did this. Before I know it, I’m on the roof, breathing in air that’s slightly fresher than what is down on the streets. Inhaling deeply, I glance around and spot the assassin several buildings ahead.

I give chase, trying to stamp down the rush of excitement that courses through me. But as I leapt across to another roof, landing with a roll, I found myself smiling and wiping a thin layer of sweat from my brow.

The movement is easy, though I stumble a few times. I’m nearly on top of the assassin, but I keep my distance until I can come up with a plan. I’m without weapons and judging by the faint clinking I hear, I know they are weighed down with hidden weapons, along with their signature blade. I can face them in a hand to hand fight and if they are an honest fighter, then I stand a chance. But…

“Shit,” I whisper.

Somehow, I lost track of the assassin. I stop at the edge of some apartments and look down into the alley, but I see only the usual trash and some children playing.

There’s movement behind me and dodge out the way of the cane that swings in my direction. Caught off guard, I left an opening in my defenses and the assassin seizes the opportunity. I hear the hidden blade draw forward in its mechanism. I drop down, put all my weight behind me and roll on my shoulder, putting distance between us.

“Your technique is sloppy, so you’re definitely not with the Brotherhood,” a sharp female voice says. “Possibly Templar. Lower level thug judging by your movements.”

I stand and rub my shoulder. “I’m not with them or the Brotherhood.”

Her face is hidden by her cowl, but I see the corner of her lips quirk. She sheathes the blade and I sigh, grateful that if we’re to fight, I won’t have to worry about it too much. “Who are you with then?”

“No one.”

“Why are you following me?” she asks.

I hate that I can’t see her eyes. I can’t tell if she’s looking at me, calculating a way to escape or searching for weaknesses in my defenses. “I have questions,” I say.

Her lips turn down in a frown and I brace myself. The assassin charges. Her left fist comes in for a jab. I block it. But she brings her cane up and catches me in the stomach. I double over and she drives her knee into my chin. I bite down hard, taste blood in my mouth and see flecks of white. I curse as I fall. I’m rusty, but even so, she’s better trained than me. I never stood a chance.

This is a stupid decision. I should have gone home. Tended to my hand. Drank myself to sleep. I can almost hear my parents chiding me for once again failing to follow reason.

Why didn’t I think?

I hear the assassin draw closer. I can’t beat her, but I can get back to my feet. It’s painful, but I once again roll over, crouching low and move back until there’s space between us again. The woman readies herself. And I want to get back into the fray. Prove myself, even if it’s only to an assassin.

I want to believe I can do this.

But it’s hard mustering up that confidence, especially when different parts of my body are already throbbing in pain. I suck my teeth. No answers today.

I step back and I sense the woman tense. But I turn heel, run for the edge of the roof. She shouts something behind me, but it’s lost over the wind in my ear. I see the open window in the building across from us. I jump, curl into myself, reach and grab the windowsill and tumble inside. She’ll give chase and her landing will be cleaner than mine. She’ll be on my heels in mere seconds.

I give in to my body’s natural reactions and run down the stairs, bumping into an older woman as I reach the open street. My movements are erratic, illogical, random. I run through small courtyards, lurch across the paths of horse-drawn carriages, scale buildings only to climb down seconds later.

Night crawls across the city, but I don’t stop running. Even though my mouth is running dry. Even though every part of me hurts. Even though my legs start to wobble and give way. I have my stamina. It’s the one thing that’s stuck with me over the years. My training trickled out of me. My interest in the Pieces of Eden waned. My family…

Everything from America was always at my back because I never stopped running. I couldn’t stop. Even when I was walking the streets of London, my mind was racing, trying to stay ahead of what happened in the past. If I dwelled on it, I’m certain I’d completely shatter.

It’s only until I’m back in Whitechapel, close to my tiny apartment that I finally decide to slow to a walk. I know the assassin stopped following me. I couldn’t shake her. She simply lost interest.

“Want some company tonight?” Essie leans against a wall, smiling as she sees me approaching. Her blue dress is filthy from mud and soot. She folds her arms under her dress, pushing her cleavage up so it attracts potential customers. Any other night, I’d take her up on her offer. But tonight…

“I’m good,” I say.

“You’re hurt. What happened?” She walks next to me, her brown eyes filled with concern as she sweeps her gaze over me. I realize I’m limping. I try to correct it, but it hurts.

“Got into a scuffle. I’ll be good once I sleep it off.”

Essie touches my arm just above the elbow. “Wanna stay at my place? I’ll take care of you.”

I laugh. “I don’t think I can manage tonight,” I say.

“No, you fool. I meant I’ll nurse you back to health.”

I think about the assassin. She could find me easily if she wanted. I can’t risk her getting close to Essie. I stop walking and reach for her hand that’s still on my arm. “I’ll be fine. I promise. I’ll even come see you tomorrow sometime,” I say.

“Promise?”

I nod. Essie stands on the tips of her feet and brushes her lips against my cheek. I let go of her hand and she returns to her post, scanning the streets and sidewalks for someone to accept her offer. I watch her for a second, then turn my gaze to the rooftops. I think I see a strange shape. But it’s gone after I blink.

My apartment is deep in the burough. I climb the stairs, leaning hard against the railing until I reach the third floor. My bed is open and inviting as I enter the room. But first I need to check my injuries. I find my small medicine kit, pour a glass of whiskey and sit at the kitchen table. Cool air greets the back of my neck and I know I closed the window this morning.

“I thought I lost you,” I say, rubbing my sore jaw.

The assassin emerges from the shadows near the window. “I followed from a distance.”

I snort and poke at my hand. It’s no longer throbbing, but it’s starting to grow stiff. It’ll be useless for a while. “If you’re going to kill me, then remove your hood. I’d like to look into the face of my _assassin_.”

“I’m not here to kill you,” she says. Still, she lowers the hood and I’m surprised by her youthfulness. She carries herself like a seasoned Brother, someone who has used their hidden blade countless times over multiple decades. But taking a good look at her, I can tell she’s only two or three years younger than I am. Her brown hair is braided in a singular braid around her head and her blue eyes are hard as she takes in my small room. She relaxes as she accepts that I’m not a threat. I frown but swallow my anger. If she kills me here, it will be a while before anyone comes looking for me.

“What surprises me is your accuracy while climbing buildings,” the assassin says. Her eyes land on me and I return her serious expression. “When you first jumped, I was certain you’d end up on the streets with a broken neck. Yet somehow you made it through the window, even if your landing was shaky. And I can reluctantly admit I did lose you once or twice.”

This fills me with pride and I smile. “Not an easy feat,” I say.

She narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “No, not when it’s me giving chase.” She runs a hand over her hair and sighs. “So I’ll ask again, who are you?”

“No one important.”

“That’s not a good answer.”

It’s my turn to sigh and I’m the first to look away. “My name is Genevieve Tillman. You are…”

“Evie Frye.”

I groan as I shift in my seat and stretch my leg in front of me. Everything still hurts, even if the intensity has diminished since earlier. The assassin notices and her expression softens by a fraction.

“Well Miss Frye, you’ve followed me home and we both know you have, and will always have, the upper hand. Ask whatever questions you have.”

“Why did you follow me?”

I shrug. “I wanted answers.”

“Answers about what?”

“About what the Brotherhood is doing here.”

She sits in the chair across from me and snatches the whiskey bottle just as I reach to pour another glass. I frown, but say nothing.

“What do you know about us?” she asks.

“More than I’d like.”

“Will you give me a clear answer?”

I want to laugh, but sniff and rub my nose. “Look, I saw you kill that one Blighter earlier today. I just want to make sure the innocent people would be okay.”

She folds her hands together, placing them on the table and leans forward. “If you know so much about the Brotherhood, then you know we stay our blade from the blood of the innocent.”

“You’re supposed to, yeah,” I say. “But when Templars and Assassins meet, they only see red and sometimes, sometimes everything falls away and innocent blood is spilled.”

“You speak as though you’ve had experience with this.”

I grit my teeth my teeth, nearly working them in a slow grind. A bad habit that only appears when I’m agitated. 

“My brother and I are fighting for a free London,” Miss Frye says. I think about the man on the carriage today and notice the similarities. “Our methods may be different, but deep down we both want the same thing. And we’ll achieve it without harming innocents.”

“I was innocent.”

“You followed me,” she argues. Her eyes narrow to lethal slits. If I was a normal person, I’d feel afraid or concerned for my safety. But assassins have never frightened me. They’re just as blinded by their ideals as the Templars. Stubborn. Prideful. Arrogant. It was always difficult getting an assassin to see how similar they are to their eternal enemies.

Taking calming breaths, I snatch the whiskey back, take a long swing straight from the bottle. Miss Frye stands and for a second, I think she’s actually going to kill me. But she moves to the window, raising her hood once again.

“You’re right,” she says. “I should have taken a different approach with you. I apologize. And to make it up, I’ll send a doctor to look over your injuries. I know you’re hurting.”

I think I hear a smile in her voice. I lean back in my chair and reach for the whiskey again but think better of it. By the time I face the window again, Miss Frye is already gone. The glass wobbles from the force as I slam it close. I peel off my shirt and trousers, gingerly, wincing from the pull of a sore or bruised muscle. The marks on my body are a dark red, almost maroon, on my brown skin. Some are small, hard to see unless you squint. While others cover a large patch of skin. One sits in the middle of my stomach, tender to the touch. 

“Fuuuuuccccckkkk.”

I crawl in bed and try to sleep. But every time I close my eyes, I hear the unsheathing of a hidden blade. It sounds loud in my mind, a noise I’ve heard countless times when I was a teen. If the Assassins and Templars are here, then maybe it would be best if I fled the city. Settle in a remote place far from their constant battles.

It was the safest option.

It’s what I always do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't abandoned this story! Hopefully with AC: Valhalla coming out, I'll feel inspired to continue working on this. Thanks for the kudos and comments! It means a lot to me! 
> 
> Prepare for some slight angst towards the end!

The next morning, I’m pulled from sleep by a series of short knocks on the door. I shoot up in bed, a mistake I realize within seconds as my body answers me with pain. 

“Fuck,” I whisper. The day after a fight is always the worse. Thankfully, it’s Sunday, my one day off. 

There’s another knock. “Who is it?” I call, slowly crawling out of bed. 

“Miss Frye sent me ma’am. She said you needed a doctor.”

I did need one. I’m in more pain than I expected. But I hate to admit that. I reach the front door to let the doctor, a woman shockingly, inside. I eye her as she sets a medical bag on the table and opens it. 

“You’re a doctor?” I ask. 

“A nurse really. But I know just as much as any doctor,” she says. 

I nod and go for the whiskey bottle, but she slaps my hand away. “Not until I’ve had a chance to look over you,” she says. She looks around, her nose wrinkling at the sight of my apartment. It’s bare, but clean with everything mostly in it’s proper spot. “Have you eaten?” 

“Not since lunch yesterday.”

She sucks her teeth and shakes her head. I settle on the side of the bed and wait for her to examine me. 

“Florence Nightingale.” 

“Genevieve Tillman,” I say as I remove my shirt. 

“Miss Frye wasn’t lying,” Nurse Nightingale says. “You were clearly worked over pretty badly.”

“Did she tell you by who?”

She looks up from the bruise on my stomach. “Yes, she did.” 

“Hm.”

I think to ask about her connection to Miss Frye. I can’t help it. I need to know if London is safe for me with Assassins and Templars running around. 

“I have some medicine that will help manage the pain. There are no open wounds which is fortunate.”

“Nothing’s broken,” I say, glancing away. “Just tender.”

“You’ve had broken bones before?”

I nod, but don’t feel the desire to elaborate. 

She rifles through her bag, pulling out two small bottles with a clear liquid inside. “This is for the morning,” she says, shaking the bottle in her right hand. “This is for the night. Take a small sip, nothing more than a teaspoon. Give it 5-7 hours before taking another dosage. I’ll come back in two weeks to check on your progress.” She sets them carefully on the wooden side table. I pull my trousers from yesterday next to me, dig into the pocket to pull out some money. 

“That won’t be necessary. Everything has been taken care of.”

“I don’t like owing people money. Take it.  _ Please _ .” It’s only a few bills, but I hope it covers the cost of whatever pain-relieving medicine she’s leaving behind. She eyes it, clearly uncomfortable with the money. “There are people who can’t afford this type of care. Use it for them.” 

After another minute of staring, Nurse Nightingale takes the money, folding it carefully and slips it inside her bag. “Take the medicine when the pain is too much. Get plenty of rest. Try not to overexert yourself and leave the drinking alone until you’ve completely healed.” 

“Got it. Thanks.” 

“Be well Miss Tillman.”

Her bag shuts with a snap and as she makes her way to the door, I feel my chance slipping away. Before I can pause and convince myself to stay silent, I ask the questions that have been perched on my tongue since the beginning of the nurse’s visit. 

“How do you know Miss Frye? Do you know who she works for? What they do?”

Nurse Nightingale hovers in the doorway, before letting it shut softly. She folds her hands in front of her, letting them hang just below her waist. She’s a short woman, but with me still on the edge of the bed, she must look down the bridge of her nose to lock eyes with me. “Miss Frye procured much needed medical supplies for me. She saved a girl’s life with that medicine. She saved many lives with her selflessness. I know of the Brotherhood and yes, it may seem strange that I align myself with such an organization. But for years the people in London have suffered because of neglect from the government and those in charge. I may not approve of their methods, but I won’t shy away from the Brotherhood’s aid.” 

I feel that familiar burn of anger in my chest. I can’t direct it towards her. She helped me. She’s not my enemy.

I don’t know if she’s waiting for a response or if she wants some acknowledgement of her words. But after a few minutes of silence, the nurse gathers her supplies once more and shuffles towards the door. I don’t look at her, too embarrassed from what I’m sure was a mild scolding. 

“Things in the boroughs have improved Miss Tillman.” Her whispered voice carries over the short distance between us. My fist clenches and I loosen my jaw, rolling it to relieve tension. “I can’t speak on your past experiences with the Frye twins or the Brotherhood. But they are trying to make London a little less miserable.” 

I open my mouth to say something but shake my head. I rub my temples, willing the incoming headache to go away. 

“The medicine will help with all aches. Rest well.” The door shuts quietly and I listen to her footsteps as she climbs down the stairs that lead to the main entryway. She slips back onto the street, her steps blending in with everyone else’s. I sit on the bed, but eventually the pain is too much and I nearly lunge for the medicine. 

It’s cool as it slides down my throat and I wait to see if the effects will begin immediately. I feel no different but decide to give it some time. 

I change into fresh clothes and head to a pub across the street for a quick bite to eat. I want to follow the nurse’s instructions, but my mouth waters at the smell of beer in the air and I order one pint to go along with my meal. It’s mid-morning by the time I’m finished and I start to walk aimlessly, before remembering my promise to visit Essie. 

Her flat lies on the other side of Whitechapel, a rundown little hovel that she shares with some of the other nighttime girls. Her grin is wide when she sees me on the other side of her door. Her blonde hair, which is starting to go silvery from age and stress, is frizzy this morning and her brown eyes are still heavy with sleep. She wears a tattered chemise, something she either stole years ago or was handed down to her. The fabric stops just above her knees and I try not to stare.

“Did I wake you?” I ask, stepping inside. It smells of different perfumes and cheap wine. When I first started visiting her here, the strong scents always gave me a headache. Now it only causes me to sneeze a few times. 

Essie grabs my hand pulling me further inside before shutting the door. We land on the bed and I feel a faint heat on my lap as she straddles me. “I don’t mind waking up to you,” she says. Her hand rests on the back of my neck and I lean down, pulling her into a deep kiss. 

I’m lucky to have found Essie. Not because I love her. I don’t think our relationship will reach that point. At least not romantically. But she’s one of the few ladies of the night who will sleep with women and someone who is Black. I fit into both categories, but Essie never turned her nose up at me. It started as a pure business dealing. I paid her and then we fucked. It was simple, quick, the way it was supposed to be. 

Then, at some point we grew fond of one another. We would lay in bed and whisper to each other in the dark secrets we swore we’d never share with another soul. I made sure to get her off during sex, wanting our encounters to be just as pleasurable for her as it was for me. If someone gave her a hard time or tried not to pay her, then Essie would come to me and I’d handle it. She is a friend to me. Maybe even my closest friend in this city. 

Essie leans in for a kiss, pulling my bottom lip between her teeth. “Be gentle today,” I say. “I’m still a little sore.” My hand trails up the inside of her thigh, touching soft curly hair. There’s a wetness beginning there and we both smile. 

Her own hand travels down my trousers and I buck as her fingers skim over my wet lips. “I’m always gentle with you darling,” she says, pushing my shoulder until I’m on my back and staring up at her. My eyes flutter close as she presses her warm lips to my neck, her teeth grazing over the skin. “Just relax.”

Essie’s bed is small, forcing us into a cuddle when we’re done. The late afternoon sunlight glows orange, a patch of it reaching across the floor to rest on the edge of her bed. Her head rest just under my chin and she runs a finger along a trail from the bottom of my breast to my navel. Our clothes lay in a pile on her floor. I stretch, but there’s a tight pull in my stomach and I wait for the pain to subside.

“What happened to you last night?” she asks. She kisses the bruise on my midsection and I crack open an eye to look at her.

“Told you. Got into a scuffle. I’m fine. A nurse saw me today and said I should just rest.”

Essie grins. “We certainly didn’t rest.”

“We can now.”

I  _ could _ love Essie in a romantic way, but she’d never return the favor. Even though we sleep with each other, cuddle after and kiss one another like we’re courting, Essie isn’t fully into women the way I am. She told me once she likes the sounds women make when you touch them. The way their orgasms can be quiet and mouse-like or loud and vulgar. She likes the softness of women, especially when they kiss. Essie likes the physical aspects of being with a woman. But the emotions? No, she’d rather deal with men. 

Accepting that was hard. I envisioned us slipping into an easy, domestic life with a shared apartment in the city or maybe out in the countryside. But I like what we are now. Friends who pleasure each other when we need it. It worked for us and it meant we could have a clean break if we ever found someone to share our lives with. 

Essie rolls over to her side and I curl around her, falling asleep in minutes. When I wake later, Essie’s spot on the bed is empty, but warm. I sit up, shivering at the cool air that hits my bare skin. The other girls are in the midst of preparing for tonight, their giggles penetrating the thin walls. 

“You’re awake.”

I face the door and smile at my friend. She’s dressed in her chemise again and carries a tray loaded with two bowls of soup, a pint of beer, a glass of wine and a baguette. I make space on the bed for her to lay the food down. 

“Aren’t you going to work soon?” I ask as I accept the beer and soup. 

“It’s still pretty early,” she says, though she carries her food over to her vanity. 

“How was last night?”

“Saw some usuals. Made a decent amount.”

“Anyone bother you?”

She looks at me through the mirror and smiles. “No hun’. And I know who to go to if anyone ever tries something.” 

I rip chunks of bread from the larger baguette, using it to sop up the soup while Essie puts on her makeup and freshens up for the night.. I finish my meal just as she starts to slip into a corset. I leave my dishes on the bed and walk over to her, helping to lace up the back. 

“Not too tight,” she says. 

“I know.” 

She chuckles to herself as my fingers work to tighten the corset. “If you ever find a steady woman to love, I’d be completely helpless.”

I look at her through the mirror. “I’d still come around.”

“I know you would hun’,” she says. “But the way we act, no other woman would want to have to compete with that.”

“She wouldn’t have to compete.”

Essie laughs, but doesn’t say anything. I stay until she’s ready to go out for the night, changing back into my clothes once I see she’s nearly done. Essie links her arm through mine as we leave the room, leaning into me so we can both walk comfortably through the narrow hallway. 

“What do I owe you for today?” I ask. 

“It’s on the house,” she says. Then adds, “Well, actually what about a nice meal next time you get paid?”

“Deal.”

The streets are starting to fill as men file into the pubs for a hearty meal or drink. A city workman walks from lamp to lamp lighting the wicks inside to give dim lighting for the night. Essie releases my arm as soon as we’re outside, presses her fingers against her lips and puts them to my check. 

“Thanks for today, Gen,” she says. 

“You know I hate that nickname.”

“You prefer Neva?”

I grimace. Mom used to call me that. “Not by much, but it’s better than ‘Gen.’”

Essie laughs. “Fine, I’ll call you that then.”

“Be safe tonight.”

“I always am.”

I stand on the sidewalk and watch as she struts away, winking at passing men. She’ll head to the entrance of the borough and work her way inside, stopping in at different pubs along the way. Maybe our paths will cross again tonight. It’s happened before and she’ll always blow a kiss in my direction when our eyes lock. I know I should go back to my apartment and rest some more. 

But I’m thirsty for a drink. 

The pubs closest to the start of the borough fill quickly, so I decide to visit one near my place. At least if I get drunk it will be easy to stumble home. My hand touches the handle when I hear a strange noise in the alley. 

“Shit,” I say under my breath, unsurprised as Miss Frye emerges from the darkness. 

She raises a neatly trimmed eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“Getting a drink.”

“Didn’t Miss Nightingale visit you? I’m sure she told you not to drink.”

I frown and place my hands on my hips. “Is it your turn to trail me now?”

“I was coming to check on you. It’s a good thing I did,” she says. She starts to reach for me and I think about stepping away from her. But I don’t fight her as she grabs my arm and yanks me away from the pub. “You need a warm meal and plenty of sleep.”

“You going to cook for me?”

We pass under a lamp and I see her pale cheeks turn a shade of pink. “Of course not,” she stammers. “But there’s food on the train.”

I finally snatch my arm away, wincing. “I’m not getting on a train. Especially not with an  _ assassin _ .” 

She spins on her heel and stalks forward. “What do you have against the Brotherhood?” 

“A lot,” I say, crossing my arms. “Look, you want me to eat and rest? Fine. I’ll do it. But at my place.”

Her eyes narrow and she purses her lips to begin an argument. But something crosses her mind and she relents, accepting what little power I give her. “Fine, let’s go then.” 

“I don’t need an escort.”

“Seeing as how I just caught you outside a pub, I’m not going to simply trust you’ll go back home without making a stop to a barstool.”

“Don’t you have other things to worry about?” 

Her frown falters and she steps back on one leg, rubbing her neck. There’s a bruise. Faint pearls of red and pink that wrap around the sides of her neck. Nothing I gave her yesterday. “I need a distraction,” she says, looking everywhere but my face. 

She looks dejected. Lost. I actually feel something akin to empathy for her. 

But my eyes only have to stray a few inches to see reminders of who she is. A belt of small daggers, one slot empty, hugs her waist. She fidgets with the bracer that holds her hidden blade. She’s without her cane today, but the handle of a longer blade peeks out from the corner of her jacket. 

“What makes you think I want any part of your  _ distraction _ ? Gonna pull me down an alley for another row? Or do you want to test your new steel against my skin?”

Miss Frye swallows hard, taking another step back. “I would never…”

Her face continues to fall, as she withdraws further into herself and something continues to stir in me. I find myself feeling bad for her. I  _ almost  _ wish I could take back my words. Was I being too cruel? 

There are too many conflicting emotions and I feel that headache coming back, tenfold. “I’ll go home. Don’t worry.” I glide around her then, keep my head low and my gaze on the sidewalk. “Just leave me be.”

“Miss Tillman I’m sorry for yesterday. Please let me explain.” 

I shake my head. “How can you possibly explain yourself? How?” I feel my voice rising, drawing the attention of others. “I need to get home.  _ Don’t _ follow me.”

I think I hear her sniffle but chalk it up to the wind. I tell myself not to care. To harden my emotions like I was taught to do. She’s an assassin. A killer. Someone who holds to a creed that leaves no room for nuance or second-guessing. I can’t feel sympathy for someone like that. 

I won’t allow myself that kind of weakness. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Brief mentions of sexual harassment and slight child abuse

For a week I see nothing of Evie Frye. It should bring me peace. Some sense of normalcy. 

But in truth, I feel like shit. There’s a tight knot of guilt in my stomach, that twitches anytime I see a moving shadow on a rooftop or down an alley. I feel myself growing desperate, almost to the point of finding a way to seek her out. Whenever I cross paths with a Rook, I start to ask for directions to their boss, only to leave the question unspoken at the last second. I think to go to Nurse Nightingale to see if she’d pass a message along, only to remember that I have no way of finding her. I find myself at the train station, looking for clues to point out the right locomotive. But it turns up nothing. 

My room’s window stays unlocked. Just in case. 

If only I could apologize. At least for my behavior that night. I still hate assassins and the Brotherhood. I wish the organization never existed. But Miss Frye was trying to be kind and I took it, squashed it between my hands, stamped on it and tossed it in her face. I’m better than that. 

My parents taught me to be better than that. 

It’s hard purging Miss Frye completely from my thoughts. I only manage to push her to the edge of my mind when I’m working a shift at the steel factory. The workdays are long. The pay is shit. But I love the burn in my muscles as I feed coal to the furnace or push a beam of steel down the assembly line. I come home covered in soot and metal shavings, my ears ringing from the noise inside the small building. But I never complain. 

Mr. Jackson, the owner, is a decent man by local standards. He doesn’t beat us often. Though his cane will catch the backside of some child slacking on the clock. And there’s rumors he likes to feel up the girls and women who work here. He hasn’t attempted anything with me. I’d have to flee town after breaking his neck and I think he knows that.

Saturday arrives and with it, the end of another grueling work week. I nearly pat myself on the back for making it through a shift without thinking about the assassin. I think to reward myself with a pint of beer and a warm meal. Heeding Nurse Nightingale’s advice, my injuries are nearly healed, with most of the bruising appearing as a faint yellow. And I steered clear of any pubs outside of a necessary meal. 

The girls are already out on their respective corners, hoping to catch men before they reach the pubs. I nod in greeting towards the few that I know and stay on the lookout of Essie. 

“Miss Tillman?” one calls. A woman with brunette hair that’s pinned on top of her head and dark brown eyes that make me shiver bounces up to me. I believe her name is ‘Katherine’ or ‘Laila.’ 

“Yes?” I ask, sidestepping a name and the chance to embarrass myself. 

She holds her dark green dress by the bottom to keep it from catching the muck and grime as she crosses the road to meet me. “Essie’s busy tonight entertaining some man in her room.”

“Hm. You know we’re not attached at the hip.”

She trails a finger down my neck and stares at me with hooded eyes. “I know. I also know you got paid and you always tip well,” she says, her voice dropping low. Though Essie’s my main ‘lover,’ I’m not afraid to share a bed with the other girls in Whitechapel, including the one in front of me who is currently toying with the first button on my shirt. I’m not in particular need of attention tonight. I plan to catch up on some much-needed rest. And the woman (goddamn my poor memory) isn’t as gentle with her touches. I’m solely a transaction to her. 

“Want to be my first for the night?” She pushes the button through its opening, and I swallow, unused to such forwardness from her. She must be desperate to come to me. Maybe her rent stack is looking skimpy. 

“Fiiiiinnnneee.”

“Yes!” She grabs my hand, keeping it in a vice like grip and leads me back to her room. 

“How short are you for the month?”

“You gonna make up the difference?”

I glance towards the darkening evening sky. “I can, if you really need it.”

When we slip into the entryway, she catches me by surprise and pushes me into the nearest wall. She swallows my sharp gasp with her lips. My hands curl around her slender waist, my fingers digging into the cheap fabric she wears. 

“I think you’re a rich woman, Miss Tillman,” she says, peppering my neck with kisses. I’m most sensitive there, which she discovers soon enough as her teeth sink into my skin. 

“I’m not.”

I shiver from her lips curling up into a smile. “Liar.”

Moans and grunts slip through the cracks in the wall as the other women work to earn their money for rent and food. I once admitted to Essie that I felt sorry for them. They had to submit themselves to handsy, cheap, drunken men on a nightly fashion. But she smiled down at me and told me she felt sorry  _ for me _ . 

“I get to enjoy one of the simplest pleasures every day,” she breathed into my neck. “You go off to sweat in a factory and come back covered in soot. My job’s hard, sure. Sometimes a man will stick his hand or cock somewhere I don’t want. But all I have to do is give a shout and here you come ready to send him into the next day. It’s not s’bad.”

“No,” I said. “Not when you put it like that.”

The woman pulls me away from the wall and leads me upstairs to her room. I’m surprised Essie’s door is open and I can’t help but peek inside as we pass. “I took your girl for the night!” the woman hollers as we pass. 

But I plant my feet in the ground, forcing the woman to stop with a yelp. Essie sits on her bed, hair in loose ringlets that fall down her shoulders and she holds a wine glass in her hand which she twirls with a lazy effort. “Oh, Neva!” She perks up at the sight of me and rises. The man, fully dressed, turns and looks at me with a crooked smile. He stops spinning the hat in his hands and runs a calloused hand through dark brown hair. 

I recognize him immediately and bite back the surge of anger that threatens to erupt within me. “What the HELL are you doing here?”

“Looking for you actually. Genevieve Tillman?” he asks. 

I can’t help it. My eyes go to the bracers he wears, waiting to see if he’ll release the locking mechanism and drive the blade across my throat or under my chin. Assassins have a one-track mind. 

The woman tugs on my arm, trying to move again. “Come on. We don’t have time to talk. I got others I want to get to.” 

Essie clears her throat. “Cora leave her alone.”

“But I got rent to make!”

Without breaking my gaze on the assassin, I fish in my pockets and pull out enough money to cover what I would have paid the woman and then some. I commit her name to memory as I place the bills in her hand. 

“Only rich women pay for services they didn’t get,” she says, taking the money and settling it between her breasts. “But I’ll be kind to you next time I catch your eye.” She kisses me on the cheek and saunters down the stairs. 

“Essie, he bothering you?” I jut my chin in the direction of the assassin, who only continues to grin down at me. I hate that I’m shorter than he is, even if it’s only by two or three inches. 

“No hun’. Like he said, he’s looking for you.”

“I heard from some of the other girls you two were close. I was hoping she’d take me to you. I’m Jacob Frye.” He holds out a hand in greeting, but I brush past him and into the room. “I just want to meet the woman who has my sister in such a tizzy.” 

I go to kiss the top of Essie’s head, but she swats at me. “Whatcha do to the poor girl?”

“Nothing!” But, without my permission, an image of a teary eyed Evie Frye crosses my thoughts and that knot in my stomach twists painfully. “How’d you find me anyway?” Which is a silly question to ask an assassin. 

“An American in London is like a goose in a chicken coop.”

“Whatever. Like I asked before, what are you doing here? What do you want?”

Essie slips her hand in mine and traces soft lines against my palm like she does after I fight one of her unruly clients. Jacob pushes hair away from his face. 

“Just wanted to sate my curiosity.” He perches his hat on the side of his head and reaches for the cane next to the door. I kick myself mentally for failing to notice it. It’s been so long since I’ve had to use the skills pressed into me as a child. “And I was hoping to bring you back to our hideout to reconcile with Evie. But it’s clear that would be too much of a fight.”

“Indeed.” 

“Well I’m sorry I ruined your night with Miss Cora.” He faces Essie, his charming smile back in place. “It was a pleasure meeting you Miss Lark. Take care.” He winks at us both, before pivoting on his heel and leaving. His steps are silent, no doubt purposeful on his part. His test to check the sharpness of my hearing. 

When it feels safe to do so, I sink onto the side of Essie’s bed. 

“Not that I matter much in this situation, but I think you should reconcile with Miss Frye. She sounds like a lovely woman based on Mr. Frye’s stories.”

“How long was he here?”

“Maybe 20 minutes or so.”

I focus on the open door, not trusting the assassin. They can practically glide across floors, keeping their presence hidden until the final moment when you meet the sharp edge of their weapon. 

“There’s nothing to reconcile,” I whisper. “I hardly know Miss Frye.”

Essie pours a glass of wine for me, handing it over with a smile and a caress along my jaw. “You’re tense.” She straddles my lap, throwing her arms around my neck. “Cora can’t take care of you like I can. I know you too well.”

“I still owe you dinner from the last time,” I say. 

“And a drink.”

“Right and a drink too.” I lean away from her kisses on my jaw and sip the wine. “Let’s get something to eat before you start your night.” 

I polish off what little wine remains in the bottle as Essie readies herself for the evening. We walk arm in arm to the closest pub, squeezing our way inside and find an empty table in a far corner. She tells me to surprise her when I ask what she wants to eat. I order a steak and fries for me and a quarter of chicken on top of rice for her, as well as a bottle of wine. The price tag makes Essie’s eyebrows reach towards her hairline, but I ignore her.

“It’s interesting,” Essie muses. Her finger traces circles around the wine glass and she looks at me over the flickering candle on the table. 

“What?”

“Your accent. I’ve gotten used to it.” She lets the wine sit on her tongue before swallowing. “How’d you find your way to London?”

I shrug. “Wanted a change in scenery.”

“You runnin’ from someone?”

“Nope.” I feel a pressure against the inside of my wrist, realize I’m holding my fingers against it and stop. 

“How come I don’t know much about you or your family?”

The bartender flags me down and I make an escape, hoping Essie will drop the conversation by the time I return with the food. She waits all of two minutes before nudging me with her boot under the table. 

“How come?” she asks wide eyed with a pleading look and a lower lip in a pout. 

I don’t know if it’s anger or grief I’m barreling towards. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s neither and I’m moving towards that familiar uselessness from ten years ago. I can’t tell. But I know not to direct it at Essie. She’s the only good person I’ve met in this foggy city. I’d hate to lose her.

“There’s not much to know,” I say. 

“Anyone rely on you?”

“No. My grandfather makes do without me. I don’t have siblings or aunts or uncles. My parents…” My knife slices through a tough part of the steak in one go. “Why do you have all these questions?”

She reaches across the table and lays her hand on top of mine. It’s warm and soft. I fight the urge to bring it to my lips for a kiss. “I can pick out good men and dangerous ones. I can tell by how they carry themselves. I can see the men who are hurting and the ones who want to make others hurt. I pick my lovers carefully.”

“What do you see in me?”

She cups my cheek and I foolishly look into her eyes. “A woman who hasn’t seen a peaceful day in years.” 

My laugh is breathy and tinged with some strong emotion that chokes me. I rip my eyes away from her face before the tears can spill over. Something harsh is poised on my tongue, ready to strike out at Essie. But I swallow it, remind myself to not hurt her. Essie bites her bottom lip, trying to figure out how to proceed from here. 

“You should hurry and finish,” I whisper, still not looking at her. “Night’s getting started.” 

“Neva, all types of men walk through my door. But when one like Mr. Frye shows up, I know it’s for something important. Something beyond what I could ever understand. Whatever it is, promise me you’ll be safe.”

I shut my eyes. I can never make that promise and I hate to lie to her. 

“Finish your meal before it grows cold,” I say, pointing towards the remnants of her chicken. Essie opens and closes her mouth several times, before opting to stay silent. We don’t speak for the rest of dinner. On the sidewalk, we part with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to see each other when we can. Essie starts her route, but I feel her eyes on my back.

I never turn to look at her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished writing a rough outline for this story and it's over 40 chapters long. So I'm going to update as often as I can! Thanks for the kudos and comments!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a break from AC:Vahalla to post a new chapter! I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> The next few chapters will be sweet, bonding moments between Evie and Genevieve before we get into the angst and action!

Factory fires were rare now that the Rooks patrol the boroughs with their horse-drawn water tanks. Once a flame grew out of control, a simple shout would be enough to draw their attention and send their horses charging down the streets. They’ve saved lives. Mostly children who were always too close to the flames. (Shoveling coal is hard, but repetitive work. Even a small child can be taught to feed the flame to keep the factory going.)

But fires still occur, regardless of the Rooks patrols. And sometimes they catch the attention of the entire neighborhood. 

It’s Sunday evening and I’m settling into bed for the night. There’s shouting on the street, but I assume it’s some drunks stumbling home or searching for an alley to piss in. I roll onto my side, a relieved sigh escaping my lips. The bruising had nearly healed and there was no need to continue with the pain medicine. I was virtually healed, though a little stiff. 

The shouts continue and I frown, wishing everyone would quiet down so I can sleep. Over all the noise, I hear one word clearly: 

‘Rooks!’

Shooting out of bed and to the window, I look outside as people spill out into the street and move as one wave towards something. I follow their trajectory until my eyes land on plumes of black smoke rising from a building. 

I race outside, joining and quickly splitting away from the crowd to reach the fire. I overhear different stories of how it started, but it doesn’t matter right now. 

An assembly line has already started with teams of men and women hauling water from a nearby source. It sloshes over the bucket’s rim, spilling onto bare feet. But no one complains. I start to join, hoping to do some good in all this chaos. The Rooks will be here soon and the factory will be saved. If we can fight the flames until then, everything will be okay. 

A prickling sensation travels across my shoulders and I face the building, straining to hear. It’s faint, lost in the other shouts for more water or to stay back. A cry for help that sounds like a squeak. My heart drops as I realize someone, a child, is trapped inside. 

I’m nearly at the door before I realize that I’ve moved without thinking.  _ Stupid. _ But I’m here and some men have noticed, shouting for me to come back before I catch on fire. Two brave souls dare to come closer, likely to wrestle me back. I slip inside before they get within arms’ reach. 

The smoke burns my eyes and throat before I finish my first inhale. I begin hacking into the air and wave an arm in front of me to clear a path. 

“Hello?” I shout it over the roar of overworked machines. They all glow red, angry from being in use at such a late hour. I’m not sure if an explosion is likely, but I don’t want to find out and press forward, hoping to find the child soon. I shout again, praying there is a response to guide me towards the trapped soul. Covering my mouth and nose with the collar of my shirt, I squint against the dark, thick clouds. 

“Hello?”

“Help! Please!”

It comes from the back corner and I race forward, still acting out of instinct. I can imagine my father’s scolding me, ripping into me for surging ahead without considering all the variables. If I die here, it would be my own fault. 

The hairs on my back rise and I jump back just as a metal support snaps and collapses onto the floor with a loud groan. There’s a scream from the other side, the fear in it echoing my own emotions. I need to get out of here and soon. Using my other arm as a shield, I jump over the fallen support and continue my search for the trapped person. 

I spot them, not too far from me. A child huddles next to a row of machines that still run. Their arms cover their entire head, but I see tuffs of blonde sticking out from a bonnet. I squat in front of them and slowly reach to touch their shoulder. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The little girl watches me with glassy green eyes. Her face is covered in soot and smoke. She trembles underneath my touch. 

“Come on, I’ll get you out.”

At these words, she jumps and latches onto my neck, pressing herself as tightly into me as she can and I let her. I guide her face towards my shirt, so she isn’t inhaling the smoke and walk in a crouch. Debris, wooden planks engulfed in flames and more support beams fall towards us, but I navigate around them as best I can until I reach a side door. 

A small group breaks away from the crowd to help me with the child just as the flames break out the glass windows sending shards to us. I turn my back to the building, wincing as I feel something slice into my shoulder blade. I check and thankfully the glass misses the girl. 

“You’re alright now,” a woman in a nightgown says. I know she’s speaking to the girl, but I swallow back my own fear at her words. It takes some prying, but eventually the girl relinquishes her hold on me and goes with the middle aged woman. 

“You’re bleeding miss.”

I wave the gentleman’s concern away. “I’ll be fine.” My hands tremble at my side. and place them in my pockets. Fear and excitement, I think, willing them to stop shaking. One of the Rooks’ water tanks has arrived and they’re fighting to keep the flames from catching elsewhere. The factory is a lost cause that much is clear. But it’s too close to homes and shops. 

Facing the factory once more, I listen but don’t hear anymore cries from inside or sense any movement. Good. Let the Rooks handle the rest. Slipping into the crowd, I push my way back to my apartment. The little girl is being taken care of and most everyone stays back from the flames unless they’re working to bring water by the bucketful. I tell myself there’s nothing more for me to do and despite the excitement of the night, I still need to rest before my next shift. 

Back at home, the window curtains blow from a slight breeze and my room smells of smoke. This time Miss Frye has the decency to light a candle instead of sitting in the dark. Her neutral gaze slips immediately and her forehead creases in what I guess is concern. 

“You’re bleeding,” she whispers. 

“Glass nicked me. It’s not too deep though.”

The chair legs scrap against the floor as she stands, but she doesn’t come forward. She studies me, waiting for a sign on how to proceed. 

I cough, beat on my chest with a fist to fight the smoke inside my lungs. It’s a dry burn. My throat is raw and achy, but I know a shot of any spirit will only make the sting that much more painful. My hands still tremble, no matter how much I wish them to stop. 

“I saw you,” Miss Frye whispers. “Saw you rush into the factory. How’d you know the girl was in there?”

“Heard her cries.”

“Over the other noise?”

I nod and sink onto the edge of the bed. “I have sharp hearing.”

She curls her fist on the table, the muscles in her jaw flinching as she clenches it. “Well it’s fortunate you both made it out safely.” 

I cough again, gag from the taste of smoke at the back of my throat. Miss Frye comes closer, clearly wanting to help. But catches herself and pauses. 

I wonder if she knows about her brother’s visit. I doubt she sent him. She doesn’t seem the sort to do something like that. He said she was in a ‘tizzy’ over me, though I can’t fathom why. Our interactions were brief so far. And while I thought about her (more than I’d care to admit) over the past few days, I can’t see why she would fret over me. 

For a moment we both stay in our respective spots at an impasse. The wound on my shoulder continues to bleed, the warm blood sliding down my back and covering my shirt. I need to change. And tend to this wound. 

I rise and search my drawers for the small medical kit I keep. “I can’t reach my back,” I say, holding the small leather pouch out in her direction. “If you don’t mind, can you stitch me up? Or bring Nurse Nightingale to me?”

Her eyes widen briefly and I savor the small moment of catching her off guard. It’s a rare phenomenon with most assassins. “Of course. Let me rinse my hands.” 

As Miss Frye peels off her bracers and gloves to dip her bare hands in clean water, I pull my arm free from my shirt, hissing as the fabric catches on the wound’s edges. The sting returns, pulsing around the injury and the surrounding area. Miss Frye climbs onto the bed behind me and sits on her knees. I shut my eyes, an exhale passing through my lips as cool hands ghost along my skin. 

“I’m going to check and make sure there’s no glass embedded in here.”

“Fin-fffffuuuucccckkk.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’ll be quick.” 

I focus on the side table and try not to lose consciousness as she works. “And I had nearly healed.”

Miss Frye freezes momentarily, before realizing I’m making a joke. “I am truly sorry for the other day.”

“Don’t apologize. Given your training and creed, you did the right thing.”

“What do you know of our creed?”

“Things here and there,” I say, sniffling. 

She presses her palm flat against my back and mutters that she’s going to clean the wound. I brace myself for the new wave of pain, but her gentleness continues. She dabs at and around the injury, never letting the cloth linger for more than it needs to. What pain I feel is akin to tiny pinpricks, more a nuisance than anything. 

“Did you ever find that distraction?”

“No,” she answers after mulling over it. “I worked on something else.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. For the first time the knot in my stomach loosens. 

“It’s fine. But thank you.” 

I shouldn’t smile at the gratitude in her voice. I shouldn’t care that she’s being gentle with me when she has no reason to be. I shouldn’t care that I’m almost enjoying her touch. 

But I do smile and I do care and I want to groan from her fingers moving along my back.

I bite my bottom lip as she works quickly to stitch me back up. I expected a quick job with stitchings that would keep me from bleeding out. But Miss Frye is a dedicated woman and takes her time with her work. By the time she’s finished, I know her stitch work would make even Nurse Nightingale smile in appreciation. 

“You’ve done this often.” 

“For my brother, yes,” she says. I can hear the smile in her voice. “I was a quick learner when it came to our training. He was not.” 

“Lucky he had you around.”

“A sentiment that still rings true to this day.” Though her hands continue its mending work, I feel her eyes roam over my back. It’s partially hidden under my shirt, but there are faded scars and patches of mismatched skin from old injuries. I wait for her to ask a question in an attempt to uncover my history. The lie is perched on my tongue, ready to spring from my lips. But she never voices her question, only presses against my back to get me to hunch forward. 

“Almost done.” 

Finally the wound is sealed and I enjoy her fingers on me for a minute longer as she wraps gauze around my shoulder and under my arm to keep the injury from bleeding. 

“Thank you.” 

She clears everything away while I put on a new shirt. When we’re done, that awkwardness from earlier fills the space again and suddenly Miss Frye and I look everywhere but each other. My bed silently calls to me and my body, drained of all energy, yearns for the comforts found under my sheets. But I can’t go further without attempting to address this strange aura between me and the assassin. 

“I am truly sorry about the other day,” I whisper. I start to move my hand to the back of my neck to rub it, but the slight movement sends a searing heat down my back. My hand falls to my side as I wince and swear under my breath. “I was an ass. I know that. I’m sorry for how I treated you.”

Some emotion flickers in Miss Frye’s eyes. It’s hard to tell with only the candle proving light. But I think it’s sorrow or regret. “I’m sorry too for how we first met. I should have used more restraint,” she says. She stands by the kitchen table, her finger tracing the side of her bracer. I follow the movement with my eyes, my jaw clenching. “We’re so close…” She trails off and looks me directly in my eyes. “I’m sorry Miss Tillman. I have a lot of things on my mind.” 

“Genevieve,” I say. “You can call me Genevieve.” 

“Then Genevieve, I promise to never let anything like that happen again.” She’s still staring at me, that earlier hardness and defensiveness melting away into something softer. Kinder. Friendly. Miss Frye is a young woman. Possibly a year or two younger that I am. There’s a small galaxy of freckles on her face, with large clusters spread across her cheeks. Wisps of dark brown hair fall from her plaited bun, the strands likely loosening as she raced across London’s rooftops. 

She flushes and glances away. My own face warms when I realize I was staring. Though, she was fixated on me as well. This makes my face feel that much warmer. 

“I should get some rest,” I say after faking a cough. “I have a shift in the morning.”

Miss Frye jumps as if snapping back to attention. “Yes of course. Apologies. It is very late in the night. I shall leave you to your rest.” She rushes through her words as she slips back into her bracers. I start to wonder if she’ll use the front door, but she heads towards the window, her cape swaying gently behind her. She goes to draw her hood to cover her face, but pauses midway through and twists to look at me. “Good night Miss Till-I mean Genevieve.” She says this with a small smile and for the first time since we met, that nervous knot is completely undone. 

“Good night Miss Frye.”

“Evie,” she says with a slight nod.

“Good night Evie.” 

Her hood falls into place and she lifts the windowsill before straddling between the inside and out. “I’m glad you managed to save that girl. I’m glad you made it out safely yourself.” She ducks under the window and grips the side before scaling down to the sidewalk. I listen, but her footsteps disappear after a few seconds. Impressive. 

Sliding the window shut for the night, I decide to keep it unlocked. I snuff out the flickering candle and slide under the covers, rolling over to my side and tucking a hand under my head. Words ring in my head as I imagine the assassin climbing to the roof of a building before leaping through the air and falling into a graceful dive. 

“Be safe Miss Frye,” I whisper, wishing I had the courage to say it to her face. “Be safe.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next couple of chapters will focus on Evie and Genevieve slowly building a friendship. There will be a good balance of fluff and angst because Genevieve is really hurting! I want to get their relationship started before the upcoming adventure begins. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and leaving comments!

It’s strange existing in a city with assassins. In the past when I crossed paths with someone from the Brotherhood, I made plans to depart within the week in an effort to distance myself from those hidden blades. I considered fleeing when I first encountered Evie. I had money I could dip into to purchase passage somewhere else. But I didn’t want to tuck my tail and leave. London was growing on me and I was still a newcomer, having arrived less than a year ago. 

Besides I knew that few cities were free from the Brotherhood’s eyes. 

So I decided to wait and see how things played out. The Rooks and Blighters fought in the streets, but so far the violence stayed between the two gangs. And there were mysterious murders, but the deceased were wealthy elites who had a shady deal or two. Their murders, if they were discovered, were easily explained away in the papers. For a while there was nothing that caused alarm or forced me to continuously glance over my shoulder.

But a few days after my last encounter with Evie Fyre, I realized I was being trailed. A set of eyes was always on my back. Not in a glare. It didn’t feel menacing or threatening. Whoever was following me was curious. 

Almost immediately I realized it was Evie herself. I wasn’t certain, but I felt confident in my guess. There was an aura about her that I felt. Strong and confident, but not overly playful like her brother. I didn’t know her motivations, but I wasn’t bothered by her attention. In a way, it felt nice. I could walk the street without fear of being manhandled or harassed by Blighters. When I crossed paths with a Rook they always nodded in greeting or tipped their hat at me as if we were old acquaintances. 

It became a comfort that I quickly adjusted to. The only time Evie’s aura felt a bit unfriendly was when I was near Essie. And even then, that unfriendliness was overshadowed by her frequent curiosity.

This is our normal for about two weeks. When she makes herself known again, I’m grateful. My own desire to know more about her was getting the better of me, sending me into countless daydreams during my shift at the factory. I wanted to speak to Evie, to learn more about her current mission. And most importantly, I wanted to know why she was keeping her distance?

I slip into my apartment, kicking my boots off at the door. The taste of Essie is still on my lips, her warmth still fresh in my mind. It is a busy night for her and I’m glad she managed to find time for me, even if I had to rush out after we were done. 

There’s a familiar breeze at my back and the ambient noises from the street slip inside. 

“Care for a shot? Or something else to drink?” 

I turn on my heel, see Evie there at the kitchen table with her hands clasped in front of her like she’s been waiting for hours. I’m sure she entered just before I did. “No, I’m fine. Thank you.” 

I grab the unopened bottle of whiskey and pry the cork off with my teeth. I pour a shot for myself. “So, what questions do you have for me?” I settle in the chair across from her and stretch my legs out, crossing them at the ankle. 

“Pardon?”

I smile against my glass. “I’ve felt you watching me these past few days. Figured you’re only showing up because you want some answers or something.”

“Can’t I just keep a watchful eye over the city?”

“The city is more than Whitechapel,” I say. She quietly studies me, unbothered by my smirk. Not wanting her to think she’s overstepped in some way, I say, “Look, I’m one person in a rather large city. Surely as an assassin you have other people you can trail. Unless I interest you in some way….” 

“Maybe you do,” she says, still staring at me with a leveled gaze. My face warms and I’m the first to turn away. I pour another shot of whiskey and take a small sip. “You know so much about the Brotherhood and hold so much animosity towards us. Why? You say you’re not with the Templars.” I snort, but she ignores the interruption and continues. “You’re not with the Brotherhood either. So who are you with?”

“Myself.”

“Why?”

I empty my glass and spin in on the table with a finger. “Do I need a reason?”

“You’re quite infuriating.”

“I like to challenge people.”

“Clearly.” She huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. 

An idea comes to me then. I slide the bottle across to her and she raises an eyebrow as it stops near her hand. “Drink with me,” I say. “Maybe you’ll manage to loosen my tongue enough to spill some secrets.”

“I do not know you very well Miss Tillman, but I can tell you’re experienced at consuming copious amount of alcohol in a rather short span of time-”

“Ouch.”

“And I do believe you would drink me under the table with ease.”

“Ouch again.”

“But for once I have a free evening,” she says. I see a flicker of a smile. I hope to get a full one by the end of the night. “So I will have a few drinks. Do not for a moment think I will get drunk enough to completely let my guard down.”

I search the cabinets for the other glass and set it in front of her. “I don’t intend to get you that drunk. Besides you’re the leader of the Rooks. I’m sure you all toss back several drinks in a night.”

“I try not to engage in that sort of behaviour. Not when I’m on a mission.”

I hum and pour equal amounts of whiskey in each glass, bringing the glasses to my eye level to ensure the alcohol level matches. When I’m satisfied, I pass the glass back to Evie who accepts with a soft ‘thanks.’ 

“I assume you’re not on a mission now?” I ask. 

Evie shakes her head and a few more strands of hair loosen from her braid. “I’m close to uncovering a…” She trails off, her green eyes glancing in my direction before just as quickly looking away. I see her mentally searching for the right word or phrase that will keep me in the dark. Though I know she’s looking for a Piece of Eden. “A valuable artifact,” she eventually decides on. “But I’m waiting for the right moment to secure it.”

My glass nearly tumbles out of my grasp, but I catch it before it spills onto the table. “Good luck then. What will you do when you recover it?”

“You’ve asked a question and I’ve answered. Now it’s time for us to switch roles.”

“Is that the game we shall play?” I ask, teasing her. 

“Yes.” Her cheeks are turning rosy, but I imagine it's from the alcohol in her system. I roll my eyes and signal for her press on with her question. She wrinkles her nose as she thinks of a question. I lean back, watching her while taking sips from my glass. “Why...why are you alone?”

“Rather blunt, don’t you think?”

“I’m sorry, but there was no gentle way to ask.”

“My answer’s not very gentle,” I admit. “My parents died when I was young-”

“I’m so sorry.”

“My father’s parents died years before I was born and my mother’s mother died when I was a baby. I lived with my grandfather until I was an adult and have lived on my own since then. Don’t feel bad,” I say, noticing her gaze on her glass. “I’d feel terrible if you felt guilt over my past.”

“It was a harsh question.”

“No it wasn’t. Besides, we all carry something painful with us.” I refill our glasses and realize the whiskey bottle is halfway finished. I’d need to buy another as soon as I can. “It’s my turn. What’s your interest in me?” 

She downs the shot, squeezes her eyes shut and sticks out her tongue. This time when her face goes red I know it’s from more than the alcohol. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not. Tell me,” I say, playfully shaking her shoulder. She smiles again, though it’s not quite a full smile like I want. I’ll need to try harder then. 

“You’re normal,” she whispers. “You know of my world and the Brotherhood, yet you move through your life mostly unphased by the war between templars and assassins. It’s….”

“It’s what?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head. “It's rubbish. Forget it.” 

“I absolutely won’t! Tell me or no more alcohol for you.” She reaches for the bottle, but it’s closer to me and I’m much quicker. I snatch it and hold it out as far as I can, though she doesn’t put up a major fight. She snickers before quickly dissolving into giggles. 

“Okay, okay. Just don’t laugh.”

I set the bottle back on the table and pour a fresh shot for her, though she doesn’t immediately drink it. Instead, she twists it between her hands and focuses at a spot on the table. “It’s nice in a way. An escape, even if it’s only for a second. Everyone in my life is actively affiliated with the Brotherhood and all we talk about is the mission. But I can come here for a moment and forget the mission.”

“I would never laugh at that,” I say. 

The corner of her mouth pulls up in a half-smile. “Thank you. I guess it’s strange and comforting expressing this to a complete stranger. I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.” 

I watch her, nervous for what she would ask. I know she’s trying to pry into my life, uncover my history with the Brotherhood to understand my anger towards the guild. I know the alcohol chipped away at my defenses and Evie is surprisingly easy to talk to. I can’t tell her the entire story surrounding my life before London. Those emotions are packed away and I am afraid of cracking that trunk open to let another peek inside. 

But Evie asks questions I haven’t heard in years. And she seems genuinely concerned. It’s refreshing. 

Nice. 

I can look past her hidden blades and the kukri strapped to her waist and the hood that hides her face and lets her blend with the shadows. For once, she’s more than an assassin to me. 

“Why London?”

I blink at her, my mind scrambling to come up with an answer. “Oh uh I don’t know. It just seemed nice I guess. Plus my grasp of other languages is rudimentary at best.”

“What other langu...ah actually it’s your turn.”

“It’s fine. What other languages do I know? Italian, French, Latin, Russian on good days. Greek.” 

“You’re practically a polyglot.” 

“Some days.” 

We talk and drink and the hours slip by as though they’re grains of sand in an hourglass. We empty the bottle and I rummage in the cabinets for another. There’s a permanent stroke of scarlett across the bridge of Evie’s nose and she laughs and giggles, eventually revealing that full smile that I wanted to see. And she’s right. I do drink her under the table, though she admirably tries to keep up. The bell tower tolls eleven and Evie holds a shaky hand over her glass.

“We should stop,” she says, her words slurring together just a bit. “We’ve had enough.” 

“Alright. Very well.” I polish off the last dregs of whiskey in my glass and look at her. Her elbow is propped on the table, her cheek resting in her palm and her eyes are unfocused as she stares at me. I almost feel guilty for getting her in such a drunk state. But I have just one final question. “The artefact you’re searching for? The one you’re close to locating? What is it?”

“You’re very clever Miss Tillman.” She pats the side of my face once, grinning cheekily as though a crude thought crossed her mind. “But I’m not intoxicated enough to reveal such delicate secrets.”

“Worth a try.”

She places both arms on the table and leans forward. “Though I’d be willing to divulge if you’d tell me why you hate the Brotherhood.”

My confidence falters for a second and I feel as if I’m sinking into a dark pit under my chair. But the moment passes quickly, thankfully without Evie noticing. I copy her position, getting closer to her face. From this short distance, I can tell that some freckles are darker than others, that her eyes are a deep green that look deceptively blue in some light, that her breath is saturated with the whiskey we drank. And that she’s a second away from falling asleep. I grin, my hand twitching as I successfully fight the urge to brush a strand of hair from her face. 

“I fear you’d fall into a drunken slumber before I reach the height of my grievances with the Brotherhood,” I say. 

“Another time, I hope.” There’s a challenging glint in her eye when she says this. The thought of there being ‘another time’ causes a warm shiver down my spine. 

“I hope so too,” I say, standing. I’m hit with an unsteady wave from the alcohol and realize I had more than I intended. But I’m still able to walk on steady legs. “Until then, let’s sleep and hope we wake with only a mild hangover.”

Evie rises and just as quickly loses her balance as I anticipated. But I catch her around the waist and she only bends a little at the knees. “I should get back to the train.”

“Tomorrow Evie,” I say. She smells of fresh cut flowers, honey and steel. It’s faint and comforting. “Tonight you can take my bed. Can’t have you leaping from buildings right now I’m afraid.” 

“Where will you sleep?” 

I point to the armchair in the corner and work to get her out of her cloak and boots. Aside from her hidden blade bracer and kukri, she carries no weapons. Though the leather band with small empty slots that is slung across her shoulder tells me she possessed more weapons earlier in the day. She flops back on the mattress and I tuck her in, before slipping outside and down an alley to pump fresh water in a bucket. She’s snoring lightly when I return. I smile and dip a clean glass in the cool water and leave it on the floor for her to find in the morning. I take my own large sip of water, pull a spare blanket from a drawer and settle into the chair with a breathy sigh. 

“You’re very kind Miss Tillman.” 

My eyelids shut and my smile grows wider. “I told you to call me Genevieve,” I whisper. “And you’re very drunk Evie, so be sure to get plenty of rest before the morning.” 

“I will. Good night,” she whispers. 

“Good night.”

Just before drifting off, I hear one final whisper that feels like the start of a dream. 

“Thank you.”


	6. Chapter 6

A pained groan wakes me in the morning. My mind slowly grows alert and it takes me a while to realize the sound didn’t come from me, though it is a good reflection of how I feel as I begrudgingly crack open my eyes to a sunny day. I swear softly, my mouth dry, my temples pulsing furiously and the taste of alcohol still on my tongue. My entire body feels as though it is submerged underwater with steel beams tied around my ankles. But I hear that groan again and as the room comes into focus, I see a huddle mass in the middle of my bed. 

“Evie?” I call softly, running my hand down my face. “Evie, are you okay?”

“No. Quite the opposite.” 

“Shit, me too.” I stand and slowly make my way to the bed. I try to pull back the covers, but she keeps a tight grip on them, hiding away from the light. Which isn’t a terrible idea and I wish I could go back to sleep. But it looks like I’m responsible for making sure we eat and drink water. Shit, my head feels like it met the blunt end of an axe. 

“I’m never drinking again,” she says. 

“You say that now. But the first hangover is always the worst. We’ll get through it.” The glass of water is still there by the side of the bed and I grab it. “Here, drink this.”

“No,” she groans. 

“It’s water. Sip on it while I go get some food for us.” 

A pale hand slips out from under the cover, snatching the water back inside the hollow quilt mountain. “I don’t think I can eat.”

“You have to,” I argue. I change out of my wrinkled and stiff clothes into something more comfortable and tie my hair back from my face. “Don’t worry. I’ll get something gentle for your stomach. Just rest until I get back.” 

I leave before she can protest again and use my hand as a shield against the damn bright sunlight. In the pub, I order two bowls of oatmeal, scrambled eggs, toast and sausage links that I carry back to my room. Evie’s sitting up in bed with stray strands of hair sticking out from her bun and her clothes hang oddly on her body. She’s still sipping the water, though I suspect she crossed the room to refill the glass. 

“Morning,” I greet.

“Good morning.” She brings a free hand to her temple and rubs it. I set the modest spread out on the table. 

“Something light,” I say, sweeping my hand over the food in an offering. “You’ll feel almost as good as before once you eat.”

She takes a few tentative bites of the oatmeal and when it sits well in her stomach, branches out to eat the eggs, toast and sausage. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For breakfast. And for last night. You’re surprisingly good company.” 

“Surprisingly?”

She smiles. Her glare is mild in comparison to the other glances she’s thrown in my direction. “It must be the alcohol. Your charm seems to have withered this morning.” 

“Ouch.” 

We both laugh and even in the morning without alcohol flowing through our veins and a bottle between us, the air surrounding us is light and carefree. Possibly even friendly. I still want to know about her current mission and how things are faring between London’s Templars and Assassins. But when she looks at me and smiles, while tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, I find that those questions don’t matter. I just want to enjoy her company for as long as I can. 

Breakfast soon comes to an end and Evie dresses in preparation to depart. 

“I do feel better,” she says, securing her bracers on her forearms. The window is open, letting a cool late summer breeze in. I think to write to Grandfather to check on him. He is likely busy with the farm, preparing it for the winter. I miss him. 

“Evie?”

“Yes?” 

I twist my mouth before speaking. “Be safe out there.”

“I will.”

I look out the window again. “Good.” I rub my chest, brushing over where my heart pounds. 

For a moment Evie stands there, silently watching me and I try not to squirm. It’s not a penetrating stare, one the assassin’s use to separate threats from allies. It’s that familiar curious look that I’ve felt when she stuck to the shadows. But she catches herself and slowly a smile appears on her face. 

“Be well Miss Tillman,” she says, strutting towards the window. I wonder when she’ll decide to use the door. Not that I mind her coming in through the window. “My mission is winding down. I’ll pop in once it’s over. If you’re okay with that.”

“I’ll have a fresh bottle of whiskey ready for us.”

She sticks out her tongue, her nose wrinkling in that adorable way. “I’ll suffer through it for another evening with you,” she says, trailing off. 

“I’ll be here waiting.”

She nods and slips out the window without another word. I listen to her boots on the ceiling that slowly quiet as she walks to the edge and jumps to the next building. It’s cozy and warm in my apartment, the air still smelling of Evie. I collapse onto the bed, leaving the small mess on the table to clean when I have more energy. Before I realize it, I’m falling asleep with a smile. 

Summer is melting away into autumn. Nights are growing cooler, the dark sky appearing sooner and there are whispers of preparations for the upcoming holiday celebrations. These days pass slowly for me. I see nothing of Evie or her brother or any other assassin in the city. But I feel a change sweep over the city, like it’s holding its breath. The Rooks and Blighters are both on edge, their fights turning more brutal and deadly. Watery, bloody puddles fill the streets and sidewalks and I’ve walked through my fairshare of these when walking through the borough. I’ve stepped over splintered planks of wood, pocket knives with shreds of clothing and dried blood on the tips, and other improvised weapons, sometimes kicking them in a corner to keep them from the eyes of the urchins who roam the alleys. 

And more and more murders are listed in the papers. A young woman named Lucy Thorne found with a stab wound to her back. A local businesswoman, Pearl Attaway, with a clean incision along her juglar. Philip Twopenny was found in his office in the bank, slumped over his desk with blood falling in thick drips from his midsection. 

The assassins are busy. But it is all leading up to something and I could only pray that the city survive the machinations between the Assassins and Templars. 

And because of the recent camaraderie between Evie and I, I worry about her out in the field. Though I sense my anxiety is rooted in memories that try to gain purchase in my mind. I fight them back, both during my waking hours and when I sleep. True to my word, I purchased a bottle of whiskey for Evie’s next visit, only to pull the cork out and down half of it one night to help me fall into a dreamless sleep. I walk the length of the neighborhood night after night, wearing my mind and body down until I’m ready to sink into bed. 

No matter what I do, I feel the whispers of those memories tickling the back of mind, threatening to unleash a torrent of emotion that I’ve worked hard to pack away. If they’re unleashed, I doubt I have the strength to force them back into the dark.

It’s late Saturday night when I feel the city inhale further as the clash between assassin and templar comes to a head. I make my way to my apartment’s roof, whiskey bottle firmly in hand and lay back to watch the stars. Those whispers play in the back of my mind. They rise in volume, turning to piercing screams. I take a swig from the bottle. Wipe the trickle that slides from the corner of my mouth. 

I could release them myself. Face them head on for the first time in years. But I’m weak. They would consume me within days and I fear they would lead me to a place I can never return from. 

I watch the stars. Look for the known constellations. They are so familiar, their names first spoken to me one night, ten years ago, when I camped outside with my parents. It’s a sweet memory, one that squeezes cool tears from my eyes. But I know just after that memory is one bathed in blood that I continuously run from. 

Why  _ did  _ I come to London? Why come to this place that is equally familiar and foriegn? I was drawn to this country. But I also think I was punishing myself. Or searching for a way to wash my hands of the blood that’s so warm in my dreams. 

I wish I had given Evie a better answer when she asked. 

More stars dot the sky. I watch them, wondering if the answer to Evie’s question will be found among the stars or if I’ll have to search for it at the bottom of this bottle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always, thanks for reading! I hope to have another chapter up soon! 
> 
> Take care! <3


	7. Chapter 7

Boots collide on the roof, sending vibrations through the shingles that cause me to wake. I sit up with a gasp. I look, spot Evie standing just a few feet away. It’s still dark outside, though I’m not sure of the time. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, dropping her hood. “I didn’t realize you were sleeping.” 

“I don’t think I was out for long.” I think. I can’t tell. It feels like I shut my eyes seconds ago, though my stiff muscles hint at a longer period of sleep. 

When she walks to me, there is a spring to her step and she’s grinning. I stand and suddenly her arms are around my neck, her body is flush with mine and her warmth is a pleasant shock on this cool night. My arms hang limp by my side, my mind trying to play catch up with what is happening. Evie breaks the embrace just as quickly as she started it and fidgets with her hair. 

“Apologies. Just I’m elated,” she says. “The mission is finally over. London is secure and we can all rest a little easier tonight.”

“It’s alright,” I say. “That’s great news. I have whiskey to celebrate.”

She hums and jerks her chin in the direction of the half empty bottle. “Seems you’re a psychic” she teases. “And that I must play catch up. How did you know I’d come here tonight?”

“A lucky guess.” I rub the back of my neck, my fingers grazing the spot where her hand rested just seconds ago. I offer the bottle to her, but she looks at it and shakes her head. 

“We should head inside first,” she says, already walking towards the door that leads to the staircase. “It’ll be safer in case we imbibe too much tonight.”

“Like we’re prone to do.” 

Spinning on her heel, she walks backwards and her smile is bright and clear like a spring day. I nearly trip over myself and quickly blame it on the alcohol and my senses that are slowly awakening after the unexpected nap. Still, Evie’s in a good mood and it’s contagious. 

This time, we forgo the glasses tucked away in the cabinets and drink straight from the bottle. I try to pry details of Evie’s mission to sate my curiosity, but she shoots me down often. (“Come on. We’re here to celebrate!”) She launches into stories of her brawls around the city. (“Four burly men against me. They had no clue what to make of me when I jumped into the ring.”) I soak them up. Before we know it, the whiskey is gone. We share a look and grin at each other. 

“The pubs are packed, but we can still get some pints in us,” I offer. 

“No. Let’s go to Bertha. Drink for free.” She’s already pulling me up to my feet. 

“Bertha? Never heard of her?”

“It’s our train.”

“You call your train  _ Bertha _ ?”

“Yes. Don’t laugh.” Though she’s the one giggling into her hand. “The name came with the train.”

“I’m sure.” 

She swats at me with the back of her hand. I see it coming, think to dodge it, but quickly decide I enjoy these simple touches. “Oh hush. I won’t bring you back if you’re going to tease me,” she says. “I get enough of that from Jacob.”

The echoes from our giggles and laughter trail us all the way to the train station. It’s late at night. Close to midnight. But the Whitechapel station is packed with night travelers hoping to venture to another borough or out of the city. Some spread themselves across the wooden benches, using their stuffed suitcases as pillows while they nap. I wave a hand to clear the thin layer of smoke in the air. Evie pinches my shirt sleeve and pulls me. We weave expertly through the crowd until we reach the middle section. Evie pulls the pocket watch attached to her coat and quickly checks it. 

“How many drinks will I need to give you for you to reveal the nature of your past mission?”

She smiles, still staring at the time. “Quite a few.” She closes the watch with a soft snap and slips it back around her coat. “Though I guess there’s little harm in spilling the truth. The mission is over.”

“You think me a Templar agent?” I’m grinning wide, but my knees tremble. 

“Of course not!” She scoffs and thin lines appear between her brows. My hand twitches just as her face relaxes once more. “Though your hatred of the Brotherhood could be explained by a Templar affiliation. But I know I know  _ something _ about you.”

“What?” I ask, ignoring my sudden racing heart.

“That I can trust you.” 

A sharp whistle fills the atrium and a train rolls slowly inside. The sounds of music and people clinking mugs together can be heard from where we stand. Evie shakes her head slowly with a soft smile and grabs my wrist. “Come on. Seems we’re late to the festivities.” 

The train stops in front of us. The third car’s windows are frosty from condensation, but the silhouetted figures are easy to make out. A muggy heat strikes me in the face as soon as we enter through the backdoor and a rowdy cheer threatens to tear the roof off as the Rooks spot their co-leader. Evie greets a few members, still pulling me to the bar. A mug of beer is placed into my hands, though I don’t see who placed it there. 

“Wait here,” Evie whispers, rising onto the tips of her toes to speak into my ear. “I’ll go change and come back to join you.” 

The train car jostles softly from side to side, but Evie moves as if on steady ground. I watch her slip out the other door, taking small sips from my glass. A heavy arm wraps around my shoulders and I’m pulled into a strong embrace. 

“Miss Tillman!” The voice rings loudly in my ear, rising higher than any of the other voices in the car. Jacob Frye grins widely at me. He’s dressed out of his assassin gear, wearing only trousers that sit on his hips, a button up shirt with deep red sleeveless vest on top and worn leather boots that are caked in mud and spots of blood. His shaggy brown hair is free of any hat this evening and his beard is several days old. “Glad to see you again. You’ve made up with my sister.” His voice takes on a teasing quality. The tips of my ears burn for some reason. 

“We’re on friendlier terms,” I admit.

He slaps my back, causing my beer to slosh over the side and cover the floor. “Glad for it. We shall toast to that along with our victory of the night.” He swipes a pint from the counter and clicks it with my drink. “To victory! And the Rooks!”

There’s a collective cheer of ‘Aye!’ followed by several fists pounding on various tables and walls. It is clear London will get little sleep tonight. I watch with a smile as everyone drinks and roughhouses with each other. If not for the cramped space, a fight would surely break out. Though I wonder if the Rooks would fight amongst themselves or spill out of the car and onto the streets in search of some wandering Blighters. 

Jacob keeps his arm around my shoulders and he leads me to a corner of the room that’s a bit less riotous as the rest of the car. “You’re an interesting one Miss Tillman.”

“How so?”

“You’re in the company of fighters and assassins. But you seem unfazed.”

I look at him from the corner of my eye. “I’m in the company of drunks and aspiring drunks which is similar to the crowd I usually belong to.” 

“And yet you’re of interest to my sister,” he says. “So there’s something hidden under the surface.”

“Something I’ve yet to discover.” Evie walks towards us and squeezes in the middle. I slide out from under Jacob’s embrace. “Though I hope to glimpse it in the near future.”

I sip my drink and stare straight ahead. I wonder what I could show Evie. I’m enjoying our newfound friendship. But my past would sour it. I think. Her current curiosity is wrapped in warm genuinity and playful intrigue. Should she learn the truth, her feelings would likely become clinical and distant. 

A brute walks up and holds out a pint to Evie. She thanks him as he scuttles away, blushing fiercely. 

“We’ve already toasted to our victory,” Jacob says. 

“I heard from my cabin.”

“How about we toast to beginnings and the health of our newest companion?” He tips his drink in my direction with a wry smile. He’s a wily one and I know he’s the troublemaker of the pair. Which is unfortunate for Evie as I can also dredge up my own chaotic trouble from time to time. “To Miss Tillman.”

“Genevieve,” Evie corrects. 

“And to the Frye twins,” I say. “May the day we met be one that I remember with fondness and not regret.” 

We clink glasses and drink. Jacob chugs his ale and brings a strong finger to the bottom of my mug, challenging me to finish it in one go. We’re racing and Evie watches with a smirk. 

“I’ll enjoy picking you two from the floor in the morning.”

I’m the first to empty the mug and gasp for air. “Nonsense. We’ll be fine.”

“Indeed.” Jacob wipes the froth from his lips with the back of his arm and calls for another round. The ale is in my hands as if conjured by my thoughts. I turn to look at Evie as she giggles. 

“Enjoy Genevieve. May our hangover be kind to us in the morning.”

* * *

“There I was in a nest of Blighters with only my blade and a sole throwing knife in my possession. I was a bit banged up, having already fought my way through some pesky guardsmen at the door.” Jacob maintains a low voice, forcing me to lean across the table that separates us to better hear his story. The train car is still full, though some Rooks have passed out on the floor. I lost count of the hours since my arrival. Evie assures me it’s late in the night. Well past one or two. She sits next to me in the booth, her leg flush with mine. She leans into the booth’s back wall, unimpressed by her brother’s harrowing tale. 

My tongue is heavy from the ale, my own senses dulled and my words slur together when I speak. It draws a small, sleepy smile from Evie and I needlessly interrupt Jacob’s story just to see the uptick of her lips. “What did you do?”

In truth, I’m too drunk to follow Jacob’s story. What little focus I have is directed towards Evie who pokes me in the side at odd moments. It takes a few jabs before I realize she’s pointing out the many moments of embellishment in her brother’s story. Jacob doesn’t seem to notice and I work hard to maintain an awe-struck look. 

“I search the rafters for a way out. An open window. A poor roof patch job that I could cut through. Even a gap in the walls. But nothing!”

A finger presses into my side and a smile threatens to spread across my face. Not wanting to tip Jacob off to what’s happening on our side of the table, I cover my mouth with my hand. He continues the story as though nothing occurred. I try to listen, despite Evie’s efforts to distract me. 

“Then this massive, ugly brute walked in. Cracked, tobacco stained teeth. Scabs over his arms and face. His skin was marred with knife marks. And he had this sinister grin as he stalked up to me. He was at least three feet taller than me--”

“Oh bull,” Evie says. “You’re showing off!”

“I’m merely recounting a very true account that happened just weeks ago dear sister.” He flashes a lop-sided grin. 

“Yes, with extra details to brighten the spotlight you love to stand in.”

I look back and forth between the twins, relieved they’re both smiling. This bickering is clearly a common occurrence on the train. I excuse myself, suddenly aware of my bladder pressing uncomfortably into me. 

“Go to the last car. It’s my room. There’s a chamberpot available,” Evie says. 

“I’ll pause my story until your return.”

“I have questions about this so-called story,” Evie says.

I laugh to myself and slip out. The fresh air fills my lungs as I take a deep breath. I want to watch the stars and beat back the wave of nausea that threatens to force me to my knees. But my bladder needs to be relieved, so I rush through the next car and into the last one. It smells like Evie. Fresh flowers, gunpowder, steel and honey. 

I sigh as I relieve myself and take in the car. It’s small, but Evie makes full use of the space which is unsurprising. The bed is untidy as though she rolled out of it seconds ago. Assorted papers and books cover her wooden desk. I squint at the pictures that hang above it, but fail to recognize anyone. Though there’s a portrait of a woman who bears a striking resemblance to Evie and Jacob. A small fire burns in the corner fireplace and a wingback chair sits across from it. Curiosity presses against the back of my mind as I scan over the books and papers, but I ignore it, not wanting to invade Evie’s privacy when she’s been so accommodating to me. 

I spot some pressed flowers from the corner of my eye as I leave. My knowledge of plants and local flora is nonexistent. I imagine that Evie keeps meticulous records of the flowers she presses. Maybe those notes fill some of the leatherbound books on her desk. I wonder if she’ll let me read them one day. 

I take in more of the other car as I pass through it. There’s a long couch pushed against the wall with a blanket bunched on top. Next to it sits a safe with the door partially open. Across from the couch is a wall with some pictures pinned to it. And…

“No.”

Two portraits and a sketch done in charcoal. I’m unable to look away from the portraits, even with tears stinging my eyes. A man and a woman. Both with dark skin. Their hair is hidden by their hoods. But the dark eyes burn into me. 

“No. Please no,” I whisper to no one but the ghosts before me. 

The sketch is of a sword. The hilt is massive, a weapon intended to be held with two hands. Foreign script is etched into the blade, words from a language from centuries ago. The drawing contains little detail, an image pulled from the artist’s imagination. A weapon the Templars and Brotherhood is aware of though neither side ever possessed it or viewed it in person. 

The portraits rise above me as I sink into the carpet and cover my mouth to stifle the scream that claws up my throat. I grip at the flooring, but the fibers are too short, too fine to clutch in my fists. But I need  _ something  _ to latch onto. Because I’m sinking into my memories that haunt me in my sleep. I can hear screams, cold and spectral, pleas that I run from over and over and over and…. There’s so much blood. It coats my hands and arms and uniform. And why is there so much blood? Why?

“Genevieve?”

I gasp, my breathing rapid and uneven. I look down at my hands surprised that they’re clean and free of blood. There’s no screaming. Just the whistle of Bertha as she pulls into another station. The portraits are still there, staring down at me, pinning me to the floor. And Evie stands in the doorway. Ghostly pale. Confusion and concern in her green eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Evie asks, taking a tentative step closer. 

“I…” It’s hard to breathe. I try to take calming breaths, but the air refuses to fill my lungs. “I…”

Whipping around at the sounds of light footsteps behind me, I jump to my feet and search for an exit. A man with even brown skin, black hair cut to his ears and dark brown eyes gawks at me. “Genevieve?” he whispers. “But…”

“I have to go.” I turn away from Henry Green. I’m spiralling, losing my grip on my surroundings. Those nightmares are on my heels, salivating, waiting to drag me back to that darkness. And I won’t go back there. I can’t. 

“We’re far from Whitechapel,” Evie argues, reaching for my arm. But I’m faster and move by her before she even touches me. “At least let me hail a carriage for you.” 

“I can’t. I just need to go.” 

“Genevieve wait!” 

Henry’s voice is nearly lost over the wind in my ear as I leap onto the station’s platform and break into a sprint. If Evie and Henry call for me, I cannot hear it. I’m racing away, knocking into people who dare mill about while those spectres chase me. I jump as if they nip at my heels, threatening to sink into my skin and force a broken howl from my lips. 

I don’t know where I am. Or how to get home. I can’t tell what time it is or why there are so many people in London. Can they hear my thoughts? Do they know what I did? Can they tell how weak I am? 

I shake my head. I can’t face this. I can’t stare at those portraits. Not again. Not after ten years of nothing. No more hugs. No more early morning kisses. No more breakfasts shared around a fire. Those moments were stolen by the Brotherhood. The guild stole my parents from me. And I hate them for it. 

Everything is a blur. Grey stone. Yellow lights. Brown horses. I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I can only run. But even then that’s not enough. I can never escape. 

My legs and arms burn. The world is spinning. I want to hurl into some brush. 

I knock into something. Soft. Warm. Strong. Flowers. Steel. Honey. 

“It’s me,” a breathless whisper against my neck. 

Evie!

“It’s me,” she repeats. Why can’t I move? Why am I still here? Why...oh! Arms circle my waist, squeeze me close to this assassin that I should hate. But can’t. I don’t hate Evie Frye. “It’s me. It’s okay. I’m here.”

We’re both breathing heavy, both fighting to catch our breath. She chased me. She raced behind those ghoulish spectres that tormented me. And she caught me. The first person to do so in so, so, so long. 

“Genevieve, are you alright?”

“I can’t.”

“What?”

My entire body is too heavy. My knees give out and Evie relaxes sinking down with me, her hold never loosening. Our foreheads are pressed together. I can’t see her face through the tears that fall down my face. She holds me closer, squeezing my waist and my restraint crumbles into fine dust. 

There’s a deep sob. Followed by another that’s broken towards the end. Soon I’m crying into Evie, clutching onto her as I feel those memories break free of their chamber. She soothes me, runs a firm hand down my spine. For now, I enjoy this moment of comfort, knowing that misery stalks me from the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well we're entering the 'Genevieve's backstory is revealed' portion of the story and I'm really happy with how the next couple of chapters are turning out. I'm trying to leave breadcrumbs here and there so the revelations aren't too shocking. We'll see how I do!
> 
> I'll return soon with another chapter! Until then, take care and stay safe!


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m sorry I ruined your clothes.”

Evie sighs as she uses one hand to lift my chin. My eyes focus on the cobblestone underneath us, my ears burning with embarrassment at the thought of looking directly at her. She wipes at my face with a kerchief, unfazed by my lack of eye contact. “It’s fine Genevieve. Clothes can be cleaned.” 

We’re in a side alley that separates a row of homes and apartments. I sit with my back against a brick wall, with Evie on her knees in front of me. Her hand is cool and light as she turns my head to the side to wipe at the corners of my eye. The alley floor is dirty, riddled with puddles of unknown liquids that are foul smelling and burn the inside of my nose. Tiny rivers trickle from the puddles through the gaps between the cobblestone though they’ve yet to reach our pants. 

“Tell me, do you feel any better?” 

My hands curl into loose fits and hang over my knees. “Not really.” My throat is sore, my eyes dry as if incapable of shedding anymore tears and my headache is fueled by the tub of beer that sloshes in my stomach. Tonight I feel like shit. Tomorrow I’ll feel like shit that’s been set on fire or tossed in a river to drown. 

“Let me get you home to your bed then.”

“You don’t want to talk about what happened?”

She tilts my head up, but I cast my eyes to the side. “Getting you back to your apartment seems more important right now.” Her hand falls from my chin and she pockets the kerchief while rising to her feet. She holds out a hand. I look at it, avert my eyes again and take it. I’m surprised by her strength as she pulls me up. Assassins train their bodies from a young age, but I easily have twenty or thirty pounds on Evie. But she pulls me up with relative ease and keeps a firm hold on my hand as we exit to the mains street. She whistles, flagging a carriage drawn by a pair of Rooks.

“Everything alright ma’am?” the driver asks. 

“Yes, we’re fine.” 

I slip inside and settle on the cushioned seat. Evie gives them direction to my apartment before climbing in the cabin and seating next to me. She slides down, stretches her legs onto the seat across from us and laces her hands in her lap, mimicking my own slouched position. The horses neigh and pull us forward. 

“I have to tell you…”

“Hm?”

“I have to tell you the truth,” I whisper. 

“Only when you’re ready Genevieve.” She smiles and knocks shoulders with me. “I promise.” 

I shut my eyes and tip my head back, exhaling. “I wish all assassins were like you. I wish...I wish we had met earlier. Perhaps I wouldn’t feel this anger all the time.”

“Is that all you feel?”

“No,” I admit. I’m crying again and I’m not sure when they started falling. I wipe at them before Evie can pull out her cloth. “I’m angry. Sad. Overwhelmed. My grandfather is the only tether I have left. He’s spritely, but the years ahead of him are far fewer than those behind him. And when he goes….” 

My fingers dig into my arms, unearthing a familiar physical pain, a feeling I can use to explain away my tears. This pain is something I can stop if I want to. Release my arms and the agony will end. It’s different from the pain in my heart, that burning incision that can’t be closed. I did not cause that pain. I don’t know how to grow or heal from it. 

Evie throws her arms around my neck and pulls me towards her. “No more of that,” she says, her voice soft but stern. I don’t fight her embrace, but I won’t melt into it even though I want to. “Don’t think about it right now. Just rest until we reach your apartment.” 

We remain like this for the duration of the carriage ride. I grow sleepy and twice I catch myself nodding off. She holds me close, refusing to let me fall or drop out her arms. I hear the dull  _ thud  _ of her heart in her chest. It’s soothing and I focus on it, drowning out every other sound outside the carriage. 

Several minutes later, we stop in front of my building. Evie releases her hold on me so I can sit straight and opens the carriage door. She thanks the drivers and gives them instructions, which I ignore as I head inside. Though I pause on the sidewalk long enough to search for Essie. I wonder how her night went, if she was okay or needed me at any point. I don’t see her and pray she’s sleeping soundly in her room. 

Inside my apartment, I kick off my shoes and head straight for the bed. The door squeaks close behind me.

““I’ll get you some water,” she whispers with that same softness from before. 

It’s a reversal of that night from weeks ago, with me stretching out on the mattress while she works to ensure I’m comfortable. I’m so enthralled by the sight of her moving around my apartment, I barely register that those ghostly whispers are no longer there in my mind. I fall into a light sleep, waking once she settles on the edge of the bed and touches my arm. 

“Sleep,” she says, my eyes nearly shutting from that quiet command. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

But my mind is elsewhere, back in that train car with the two portraits and that sketch. “That sword that I saw...the one pinned to the board, is it your next mission?”

“Yes, but we can talk about it in the morning.”

“I can’t sleep without knowing.”

She sighs and pulls her hand back. She twists on the bed, propping her leg on the mattress so she can better look at me. When we make eye contact, I don’t look away because the truth is not solely in her words. It lies in her facial expressions. Though it’s been years since I’ve last used these skills, I can tell when she speaks the truth and when she speaks around it. I don’t want her lies, even if they’re meant to protect me. I need her to be honest. 

In return, I’ll be honest with her. If she asks. 

“Yes, it’s our next mission. A sword of immense power that can’t fall into Templar hands. Though the Council hasn’t selected a specific assassin to track it down.”

“And those two portraits? The assassins? What of them?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

Her hand covers mine, encouraging me to relax and unfurl it. “Former Master Assassins. Unfortunately they perished trying to recover the artifact. The Piece of Eden, as we call it.” I whimper and Evie’s warmth is not enough to suppress the shiver that runs down my spine. 

“You wish to recover it yourself? This weapon?”

She nods. “I do. With Jacob’s help and that of Mr. Green’s. Though the Council usually has final say on who can and can’t track down the artefact. It’s a weapon of legend and great importance.”

I know the sword’s name before she even speaks it. 

“Excalibur. The Sword in the Stone wielded by King Arthur himself.” 

“You speak with adoration in your voice.”

Her face turns red and she glances away. “I grew up with books. Tomes from the guild. Contemporary literature. And mythology and high legends. In my youth, I had a very romantic notion about it all.”

“And now?”

“It’s still intriguing,” she admits. I can almost picture it. A young Evie Frye dressed in her training outfit in front of a hearth with a book in her hands. She uses the fire light to read, working hard not to squint at the tiny script on the page. 

“We would have bonded as children. I think.” 

She scoots over, making space as I rise and sit next to her with my elbows on my knees and my hands hanging limply between my legs. 

“I imagine you and Jacob would have gotten along better than you and I.”

“No,” I say shaking my head. “Despite all appearances, I was a quiet child. One who stood back and observed before acting.”

“Then I would have cherished your friendship.”

As much as I’d like to reminisce over our childhood and search for shared interests, I know I need to direct the conversation back to Excalibur and Evie’s potential attempts at recovering it. Evie feels similarly, her smile and joviality hiding behind a serious, concerned expression once more.

“When will the Council decide who gets to chase down Excalibur?”

“Soon. Jacob and I will meet with them tomorrow to talk about the Shroud we recently recovered,” she says. “There’s no guarantee they’ll agree to let us on the mission. We’re not on the best terms with them.”

I make a note to circle back to that on another day. I’m sure the story is entertaining. There are more important questions to ask now, almost too many to count. I’m not sure which to ask. Where to begin. The more I listen to Evie speak, the greater my fear that I need to flee London and settle in another city. Excalibur, dangerous that it is, is also well hidden. The Assassins and Templars will work to eternity and still never locate the legendary sword. I hope. 

Rubbing the back of my neck, I feel Evie’s eyes on me and that familiar curious stare. If my defenses were higher, she would never move beyond my first wall. But I’m too tired to construct anything or hide behind lies. And if I’m to trust an assassin, Evie Frye is not a bad choice. 

“You have questions,” I say. 

“That can wait until the morning.”

“Better to ask tonight than tomorrow when I’m likely to shut myself away from you.” Evie Frye has such beautiful, earnest eyes that shine even in the dark. My trust grows the longer I stare. I want her to see me differently. I want her to know who I am. I will offer her my truth and trust that she won’t take advantage of it in some way. “It’s alright. I’m willing to face your questions now.” 

She places her palm against mine, her fingers wrapping around the back of hand and she squeezes once. “What do you know of Excalibur?” 

“A Piece of Eden, as you said. An Isu artifact, forged long among by beings who created humanity and warred internally. They’re gone now. As far as we know.” 

Our hands tremble. Whether I’m the source or Evie is, I can’t tell. Maybe it comes from both of us. “The portraits of the assassins? They….they….did they kill your parents?”

I shake my head. “I wish it were that easy.” Her brows nearly touch in the center of her forehead, her mouth turns down in a frown. I let go of her hand and go to the dresser, searching the bottom drawer, pushing clothes and underwear away until my fingers graze two pieces of cool leather. I push the journal aside and grab the bracer free from the pile of clothing, spinning it in my hands with a sad smile. “Assassins are nothing without their hidden blades. It’s the first tool you’re given to train with, correct?”

“Yes. Once you’ve proven yourself with close combat.”

Loosening the leather straps, I slip the bracer on my forearm. Though I’ve grown since the day it came into my possession, the it is still too large with space for several fingers to slip inside. Evie inhales sharply when I face her again. I press on the locking system and the blade slides free with that satisfying unsheathing sound. 

“Where did you….”

“It was my father’s,” I say, twisting my arm and admiring the craftsmanship. The dark leather is embossed with geometric patterns along the body, the blade made of fine iron that is still sharp. The mechanism that housed the blade is made of iron as well with a wiry cage of silver resting on top and a jagged piece of sapphire sits in a hollowed section. As much as I hate the guild, I can’t part from this weapon. “I keep my mother’s back in America at my grandfather’s home. My own blade is at the bottom of some lake. It was useless.” 

_ I  _ was useless. 

Evie’s eyes are wide as she stares at me. “Genevieve.” 

I sheath the blade again, but keep the bracer on. “Those assassins in the portrait on your train, the Master Assassins Flora Rainforth and Philip Rainforth, they died a decade ago during their pursuit of Excalibur.” I’m so tired of crying, but I have no energy to stop the tears. “They left behind a father on Flora’s side, Leonard Tillman, and a daughter.”

I remember that cold night when two assassins stood in the hotel’s hall, their faces hidden behind their hoods. I wanted them to see my tears, to acknowledge the agony on my face. But they delivered the news swiftly like a blade across a throat. 

“They left me.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first big secret is out! And there's more on the way, though they'll be spread out over different chapters! 
> 
> I will return in a few days with another chapter! Until then, take care and stay safe!


	9. Chapter 9

“Shit.”

I hate swearing early in the morning. But it’s the only expression that captures how I feel when I wake. My headache is a monster that was fed by my hungover and the memories I unlocked and shared with Evie. 

After my confession last night, I could do nothing but drop to my knees and sob once more, cradling my father’s hidden blade close to me. Evie wrapped her arms around me and turned my arm ever so slightly to keep us safe in case I accidently unlocked the safety mechanism. Dawn was approaching when I finally quieted and agreed to finally rest. Gently, Evie unlatched my father’s blade from my arm and set it on the table. 

“The bed’s more comfortable,” I whispered when I heard her shuffling about in search of a place to rest. She hesitated for a brief moment, but eventually climbed behind me with no complaint or argument and we slept with our backs pressed together. 

We’re in that same position when I wake this morning. Or early afternoon. I can’t tell. 

Evie sleeps soundly behind me, groaning as the bed shifts when I turn to lay on my back. She hugs herself and I feel guilty when I realize she slept with no quilt or sheet to cover her from the cold. Moving as quietly as I can without disturbing her, I climb over her and pull the blanket up to her shoulders. 

Father’s bracer is on the table and I finger the dark leather. There are fine cracks in it, tears from age and exposure to different weather conditions. It’s due for a thorough clean. But that can come later. First I need food and lots of water. 

Like last time, I stop in a local pub and order a large meal to share and cart it back to my room. Evie stirs as I spread the food out and prepare a plate for myself. I hoped the food would rouse her since I’m too afraid to wake her myself. We’re going to continue the conversation from last night. And I want to enjoy these last few seconds of my obscure life. 

“Good morning,” she whispers. 

“Morning. There’s food. Come eat.” 

She rises gingerly, stretching out the soreness and stiffness that settled in her muscles overnight. That knot of guilt builds within as I think about how she chased me around the city and slept, with no complaint, in a cold room with nothing to cover her. If she felt any animosity towards me, I hoped breakfast would soften it and put her in a decent mood. 

Evie Frye does the unthinkable. Before making her own plate, fixing her clothes or her hair, before even acknowledging the fucked up ending to our night, Evie Frye crosses the room with a purposeful stride and leans down to embrace me. And the contented hum that fills the air comes from me. The tears that fall onto the table are mine. But the soft apology comes from her. It leaves me dazed, speechless even after she releases me and sits in the remaining empty chair and surveys the food. 

I expected an interrogation. Or allegations of deception. I thought she’d demand more proof or rush off to round up her brother and Henry. 

But she does none of these things. She sits and nibbles on a sausage link. She waits for me to speak first. And my first words should be meaningful or steer us back to where we left off last night. They should delve into my past. But all I can say is….

“This is terrifying.” 

She looks out the corner of her eye and the green in them are more brilliant in the daylight. “I imagine it is.” She sets down her fork and smiles as I offer my hand before she can even ask for it. “I have no words to ease you of your pain. No secret technique to undo the past. I can offer very little to you right now Genevieve. All I can give is a ear willing to listen, my shoulder to cry into and a promise to keep Excalibur safe if that’s your desire.” Her thumb brushes the length of my wrist as she speaks. 

“That’s more than what most have offered to give. I….thank you Evie.”

We don’t speak again until after breakfast is over. I was meant to be her bit of normalcy. Yet here I am heaping more misery and chaos onto her shoulders. If, after my story, she doesn’t flee then I know Evie Frye is nothing short of a true friend. 

“You’re full of questions,” I say. “Pick one. Ask it and I will answer.” 

“Why change your name? Or were you born a ‘Tillman?’”

“No. A Rainforth. An uncommon name wherever you travel. I was a Rainforth until I lived on my own. Tillman slipped from my lips one day in conversation and it felt safe. There are assassins in nearly every majority city. ‘Genevieve Rainforth’ would sound familiar to some, especially to older assassins. ‘Genevieve Tillman’ though would not.” It took months for me to adjust to my new name. Even now, I make a mistake and sign documents with my real name. I’m not ashamed of my parents. I just wanted to stay hidden from the guild. “I considered taking on a new identity, abandon my entire birth name and start over. But I couldn’t let go. My parents named me ‘Genevieve’ and that’s who I will always be.”

“I think I understand why you turned away from our profession,” she says slowly. “But why hide from us? The Brotherhood could help you. Your parents were--”

“Legends?”

“Yes! I was relatively new to my assassin training when they passed. But my father and George spoke of the Rainforths with nothing short of reverence and admiration. I read about your parents’ adventures and incorporated their own fighting styles into my training. I can’t believe that--”

“Their sole remaining daughter would walk away from the guild that held her parents in such high esteem?”

It’s like watching the air being sucked out of the lungs after a blow to the gut. Evie shrinks in her seat, her gazing falling to the table before flicking back up to my face. “Yes,” she whispers, afraid to speak with honesty to avoid causing me anymore harm. I swallow back the anger that rose in that quick moment, though my jaw is tightly clenched. 

“I didn’t need money. My parents left me with a decent inheritance and a home to return to should I want it. And Grandfather cared for me until I reached adulthood. Despite the outcome of our first fight, I’m capable of fending for myself in a physical confrontation,” I say with a slight smile. “There’s nothing the guild could offer that I don’t already possess.”

“I don’t mean to offend or cause you to believe I’m trying to slight you in any manner. But you can have more than this small apartment and your factory job.”

“It’s what I chose for myself!”

“I know,” she says. It comes out strained, like she’s trying not to shrink further into herself. She takes my hand, covers it with both of hers and holds it close to her body. “But you  **deserve** more Genevieve. A small cottage and a quiet life with no major concerns to turn your hair gray from worry.”

“I want those things.” It’s all I’ve yearned for since my parents’ death. I wanted to hide away in a quiet part of the world to live out the rest of my days. But I didn’t want to live there alone. And… “I just can’t accept that life if the Brotherhood is tethered to it in some way. I need to build it for myself without the guild lurking over my shoulder.” 

“I….I understand.”

Silence builds between us. I realize her thumb is running along my wrist again. It’s such a soft, smooth motion. I’m afraid to call attention to it and cause her to stop. Evie bites her lower lip and stares off, lost in thought. I can almost feel the rapidness of her mind. Her thoughts blink into existence before she pushes them away with a sigh or scoff. It’s remarkable. 

“What will you do now?” she asks without looking at me. “Now that I know the truth, will you leave London for another city?”

“No,” I say firmly, shocking the both of us. “Not yet, I think. My parents died trying to recover Excalibur. It’s my wish that the artifact remains in its Isu vault. I will tell this to the Council.” And I hope to discover why there’s renewed interest in this Piece of Eden. It could be explained away by Evie and Jacob recovering the Shroud and keeping it from the local Templars. But the turnaround is too quick. And I can’t imagine the Templars knew the Shroud would be a lost cause before last night. 

There’s a flash of annoyance in her green eyes, a quick moment that she failed to control. “Genevieve, we can’t ignore the existence of this artefact. It can’t fall into Templar hands. You’re in your right to hate the Brotherhood. But you also know what the Templars aim to do, how they wish to subjugate humanity.”

“I care little for the war between assassin and templar knight. But I refuse to stand by and let another person lose their life chasing weapons that aren’t meant for human hands!”

“Is your desire bound by selflessness or vengeance?”

When I try to snatch my hand away, she tightens her grip and locks eyes with me. “Both Miss Frye.” 

After what feels like an hour, Evie releases my hand, her hard expression melting into something softer. “Please do not view me as your enemy. I want nothing more to befriend you and enjoy more hours in your pleasant company.” She sighs. “You’re angry. And frightened. I know what it’s like to become an orphan. Though he is a piercing thorn in my side, I have Jacob. But you….”

“I don’t want your pity! I am not a charity case for the Brotherhood to throw money at!”

“I know that Genevieve!” There’s a fire in her eyes, a blaze that she’s desperately trying to control. And she’s trembling. Not from fear. From anger. Her anger towards me. Or anger for me. I can’t tell. When she speaks again, it’s with a normal voice and not the shout from earlier. “You will try to push me away. You may even toy with me, discarding me and renewing your interest in me on a whim. It’s grief, I know. Fear that I’ll leave. Normally I have little patience for mercurial people. I get enough of that from Jacob and his many, many,  _ many  _ ludicrous fantasies of the future. I can’t speak for what’s to come or if I’ll eventually grow tired of any mistreatment from you. But for now I’m here. I’m staying. I want to help you find whatever catharsis you need.”

Now it’s my turn to look away, to avoid her earnest gaze. I feel utterly stupid. And despite only being awake an hour or two, I’m also bone tired. “I don’t wish to hurt you. Just….I was on the edge of 14 when they died. I wasn’t a child, but I wasn’t an adult either. My parents’ deaths and the time after, I took all that and packed it away. I never faced it. I couldn’t confront it because I was alone. And now you’re asking me to do the most frightening thing I’ve ever encountered.”

Her hand hovers in the air as she decides where to touch me. Eventually she decides to cup my knee. When her fingers accidently graze a part of my inner thigh, I shiver and feel a small flame in the pit of my stomach. I need to visit Essie before the day's end. “I’ll be there with you. You won’t be alone anymore.”

“And what will I do should you fall during this mission? How can I bear the weight of your death and my parents’?” 

“Don’t think like that,” she says. Her other hand cups my chin, lifting it so she can look upon my face. 

“You’re asking the impossible.”

“I’m not. I’m asking you to trust me.”

“Trust an assassin?”

She shakes her head, smiling sadly. “Trust me, Evie Frye. I will help you. I promise.” 

I study her, search her green eyes for any deception or dishonesty. But I find none. Just the same patient, soft, warm look she’s had since last night. All my instincts tell me to push her away, to yell at her until she admits to whatever plot she’s likely cooking up. I fear that she will betray me, though my heart tells me that won’t happen. Even if our interests diverge, Evie Frye will do her best to never harm me. 

I trust her. 

For now. 

“Alright,” I whisper. This quiet response earns me a brilliant smile that makes my heart pause its rhythm. 

“Thank you.” She pulls back her hands and slips back into the serious role that I’m most familiar with. “There’s still time to meet with the Council today. Jacob and Mr. Green are likely already there or traveling to the location. Come with me, though I can’t guarantee you’ll be granted an audience with them.”

“I doubt they will deny me that. But if they do, well, you know what I wish for.”

“I do. I’ll advocate on your behalf.” 

Evie stands in the hallway as I change into new clothes and splash water on my face. I study myself in the mirror. The older I get, the more I look like a perfect combination of my parents. In truth, I’m surprised Evie failed to notice the similarities. I have my father’s nose and my mother’s full lips. I could almost pass for their much younger sibling if they were still alive. 

I miss them. 

I store Father’s bracer back in the drawer, piling clothes on top to cover it. I stare at the leather journal, another relic from my parents. Depending on how this meeting with the Council goes, I will need to dig into their writings and use their secrets. I refuse to let the Brotherhood have Excalibur. 

But those concerns must wait for now. 

Evie turns to me in the hall. “Ready?”

I nod. 

“We’ll need a carriage. It’s not far. Should take an hour at most.”

“Fine by me,” I say shrugging. 

Evie leaves me to my thoughts during our trip out of London. At first, I stare out the carriage’s window at the brick buildings that thin and reveal trees with changing leaves on them. But as the scenery becomes all one painting of greens, oranges and yellows, my thoughts become mute and I stare without seeing what’s outside. I feel Evie’s eyes slide in my direction and several times I turn to glance back. We both force a polite smile before retreating back to our own corners, waiting a few minutes before the cycle repeats itself. 

It’s strange. We’ve both spoken of trusting each other. Yet those words are empty of meaning and weight until they’re backed by some action. And I don’t anticipate Evie going against her creed for me. 

I shake my head, forcing those thoughts to retreat. She says I can trust her and I said I would try. It has to be enough for now. 

* * *

We stop in front of a thick cluster of trees. In the distance, I see thin plumes of grey smoke rising over a hill. The forest is alive with wild animals hidden in the shrubs. 

“Wait in the town,” Evie says to the Rook driving the carriage. She points to the hill and the smoke beyond. “We’ll find you once we’re done.” 

The driver tips his hat and pulls off then. When we’re alone, Evie looks over her shoulder at me. “This way.”

We weave through the brush and low hanging branches. I’m forced to duck under the heavier branches that can’t be easily moved. 

“Think the Council will move back to London now that the Templars’ presence has diminished?” I ask. I’m genuinely curious, but I also wish to break the silence between us. 

“Possibly. It would be convenient for everyone if they’re in the city. But it’s too early to know for sure.”

“Any aspirations of joining their ranks one day?”

She chuckles. “Perhaps. Jacob has no interest in it. He’s happy with his Rooks.”

“But you?”

“My father’s teachings were drilled pretty deep in my head. It’s only recently that I realized he didn’t possess all the answers. Still, it’s difficult completely divorcing myself from his ideals. I’m parceling through what’s useful and what’s not.”

“Even now?”

She pauses, her steps slowing. “Yes.”

I spot grey in the break between the trees. A stone tower, weathered and ruined from age, sits in a field. Ropes of ivory and moss cascade from gaps in the stonework. The wooden rafters are exposed to the sunlight and creak when the wind blows. I search the stone and spot one with the Brotherhood’s emblem chiselled into it. Evie walks under the open archway, holding back the curtain of vines with her arm as I pass through. 

It smells musty inside and I cough on the fine dust in the air. It seemed easy reaching this tower, but I know there are eyes in the brush and trees. We were allowed to reach the tower. 

Evie pulls open a door hidden under a worn rug and descends the stairs. I follow on her heels, lowering the door after me. We stand in a narrow hallway made of stone. Torches light the way, giving some warmth to fight against the cool underground. 

Evie’s hand slips into mine and it’s then that I realize my breathing changed, became heavier and forced. I close my eyes and take calming inhales until my heart rate slows. But she holds fast to my hand and leads me through the stone maze. We descend deeper and ascend at strange intervals. The wallways become narrow and cramped, before opening out with space to fit two or three people more. We even wade through a puddle of water, the liquid reaching up to our calves. 

Finally there’s more light at the end and faint voices drift down the hall. Evie lets go of my hand and I bite back a deep sigh. Our path opens to a semi-circular room with one door in the middle of the wall before us. A fire burns in the stone hearth and some of the smoke gives the room a hazy effect. Jacob leans against the wall close to the door, lazily inspecting his nails. Henry paces before the door, pausing when Evie and I enter. His dark brown eyes take me in, a smile slowly spreading across his features. 

“Genevieve! It’s good to see you again.”

I shake his offered hand, clapping him on his elbow with my other hand. “Henry, long time.”

“Too long,” he agrees. “You look well. I’m glad for that.” 

“I’m the furthest thing from ‘well.’ Been so for nearly a decade.”

Henry places both hands on my shoulders and squeezes. We’re nearly eye level with each other and there’s a calming warmth in his brown eyes. I guess it’s not completely impossible trusting an assassin. I trust and care for Henry. He was kind to me last time I was in London over a decade ago, offering to show me some scaling moves and fighting styles from the Indian Brotherhood. He is two years older than me and as a young assassin in training, I wanted to shadow him and learn as much as I can. Even after I turned my back on the Brotherhood, Henry and I corresponded for a time. 

Evie and Jacob watch from a safe distance. Jacob smirks, while Evie seems baffled by the interaction. Dimly, I wonder if Henry’s caught one of their attention. He’s an attractive, kindly man. No doubt one of the twins would find him interesting or see him in a romantic light.

The door in the far wall opens and I hear the ruffle of different fabrics moving together as a hooded figure emerges from the shadows beyond. Dressed in all black, with blood red trimmings and stitches in their pants and along their hood, the figure is average height with a trim, athletic build. They lower their hood, revealing a woman with tan skin, brown eyes and black hair that’s cut short. I recognize her immediately, Master Assassin Elizabeth Germaine. I fight hard against the instinct to bow before her like Evie, Jacob and Henry. When she turns her eyes on me, I can’t help the unease I feel at what she likely perceived as a slight. 

“Evie and Jacob Frye. Henry Green. Genevieve Rainforth. Welcome to the British Council chambers.” Her voice is deep and low like a calm lake. 

“Master Assassin Germaine, we wish to report to the Council on our success securing a Shroud of Eden,” Henry says. Evie and Jacob let him lead, which makes sense given his technical superiority over them. 

Assassin Germaine nods. “As is expected. And I imagine you’re interested in our next artefact of interest.” Her eyes look me over from head to toe. Her expression is so carefully put together, I can’t read what conclusion she’s reached. No flare of the nostrils. Nor widening of the eyes. Or tightening of the lips. It’s all neutral. For now. “I’m partially surprised to see you Genevieve.”

“Partially?”

“Yes. We knew your ears would perk up at the whispers of ‘Excalibur’ and you’d come out of hiding.”

Is this a trap? I look to Evie from the corner of my eye, but she appears just as concerned and confused as I am. Not that I expect her to be aware of what plans the Council creates. 

“You’ve settled in London?”

“For the time being.”

“And you have input on the hunt for Excalibur?”

“Yes.” 

“Very well. Let us talk on the shroud first,” she says. “Then you may join us to discuss the sword.” She heads through the door once more. 

“See you soon,” Henry says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “It’ll work out. Just breathe until we return.” He follows Germaine through the door, with Jacob close to his heel. 

“Mr. Green’s right. It’ll be fine.” Evie positions herself in front of me. She’s the only thing I can focus on right now. All I can do is nod, place my trust in her and wait. The door closes once she’s on the other side and I lean against the far wall, sliding down to sit on the floor with my legs cradled in my arms. 

I think about Germaine’s words, how she and the Council knew I’d make myself known once they renewed their search for Excalibur. It makes me nauseous from unease. Why would I be of interest to them? I can feign naivety, pretend they wanted my blessing before sending another assassin out on the search my parents never finished. But I know it’s not that. 

They want me for something. And I foolishly handed myself over. 

But I will find a way to turn this in my favor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope to return on Monday with a new chapter! Take care!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get this out. I changed my original story outline so I may need some extra time to post new chapters! But enjoy this update and I hope to return soon!

It is Henry who retrieves me about an hour later. “They’re ready for you,” he says, almost grimly. There are faint worry lines that crease his forehead, a rigid sternness in his brown eyes. I take his offered hand, let him pull me onto my feet and ignore the anxiety that sparks to life within me. 

“Either you and the twins are in deep shit. Or you’re anticipating a fight,” I say, forcing a smirk. Evie is the voice of reason. But Henry is the strongarm meant to keep me in check. It’s why they sent him out, instead of Evie. The Council wants to make it clear they will not deal with any outlandish behavior from me. That message is clear and it only serves to rile me up. 

He doesn’t smile. “The Council wants to locate Excalibur. They won’t be moved from their decision. Evie tried her best.”

“I figured. Bastards,” I say under my breath. Though he’s close enough to hear it. I feel a heaviness tighten in my throat, but I swallow it back. Did I truly expect to change their minds? 

“Genevieve place your anger to the side and hear the Council out.”

“I’d sooner drink from the Thames.”

“Just _listen_. They may not speak the words you wish for, but you can still find ways in which their decision benefits you.” 

“How so?”

He sighs, throws up his hands before placing them on his hips. “I don’t know,” he says, staring down at the ground, missing the blink that disrupts my tears. “Maybe….maybe this will be a chance to sever your ties to the Brotherhood indefinitely? Or you can find peace in completing the mission your parents’ left behind? I can’t say with certainty. But please do not sow any discord with the Council.”

“I’m sure someone has done that already,” I say, bumping shoulders with him on my way to the door.

The Council’s chambers is a circular room with high ceilings, tall columns and stone flooring. Drapes with the Brotherhood’s emblem hang from the walls, framing bookshelves stuffed to capacity with weathered scrolls and leather bound books written in different languages. In the middle of the room is a long table, rectangular in shape. Evie and Jacob sit on one side, while the Council occupy the other side. 

Five members make up the British Council, an odd number to split any ties. I recognize all of them, unsurprised power remained in the same hands during the ten years since I’ve removed myself from the Brotherhood. I stare at all of them, placing names to faces with ease. Henry comes up behind me and pats my back in what I’m sure is meant to be a reassuring gesture. But it does little to still my racing heart or dry my cold and sweaty hands. 

Henry takes the empty seat to Jacob’s right, leaving the seat between the twins free. I settle in it and from the corner of my eye spot the small smile Evie offers. Her hand twitches on her leg as if she thought to take my own hand. But we remain disconnected. 

“Elizabeth speaks the truth. You’ve returned to London.” The first words to break this heavy silence comes from the assassin directly across from Evie. A short man with coppery hair and intense brown eyes, Clarence Harpe is the seasoned assassin several years my parents’ senior. His cloak and hood are made of a dark blue fabric that sit perfectly on his body as if chiseled onto him. 

A woman with midnight black skin, equally dark eyes and a shaved head sits straighter in her seat and clasps her hands on the table. Jasmine Fluer is the youngest member of the Council, maybe a decade older than me. Tall, slender, with a melodious voice, she nods at Harpe’s words. “Yes, welcome back Geneveieve Rainforth. Glad our whispers reached you.”

“I wasn’t summoned by the damn Council!” I say. My anger flares within me, Evie’s quick reflexes the only thing that keeps my fist from slamming onto the table. My blood boils within my veins. I’m almost surprised my skin doesn’t burn Evie who keeps a firm hand on my wrist. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Though when I speak, there’s a sharp edge to it. “Excalibur should stay where it’s hidden. It’s been safe for centuries and will stay safe for centuries more.”

“Yet the Templars seek to sniff it out.” Thomas Hinds leans forward, his lips drawn in his thin line and his blue eyes studying my face. His once blonde hair is now silvery with age and drapes down his shoulders. There’s a length of leather cord around his thick wrists, which he must use to tie his hair back. I remember him from my parents’ funeral. He delivered the eulogy, but I recall none of his words. Just the way he radiated regret and sadness at their deaths. Though I don’t think he was ever close to my parents. Just an admirer. “We understand your feelings and trepidations. But we can’t allow a powerful artefact to slip from our grasp.”

“How do Templars even know about Excalibur?” I ask. 

“Everyone knows of the legends. And where there’s a myth, there’s usually an artefact there in the center,” Assassin Germaine says. She sits in the middle, reigning over the meeting. “The Shroud was always Starrick’s aim. But he made plans to pursue the sword next. The London Templars are scattered for the moment, but someone will take Starrick’s seat and resume his search. We must use their disarray to our advantage.”

“But….”

“I’m sorry Genevieve.” Finally, the last Council member speaks. Wolfred Light, the oldest member of the British Council and possibly one of the oldest living members of the guild. With white hair and a neat beard, he possesses kind brown eyes that he used to his advantage when actively out on missions. Even now he speaks in a soft voice that’s meant to disarm me and put me in a false sense of security. “We will not be swayed by your pleas.”

I knew this would be the likely outcome. Yet it does not soften the blow I feel to my gut. My eyes burn with angry tears and I look down at my lap, ashamed at myself for entertaining the idea that I could change the Council’s opinion. I wish I stayed in my apartment today and drank my bottles of whiskey or found comfort in Essie’s arms. 

“The best we can offer is this: work with the Fryes and Henry Green to complete the mission your parents left for you,” Assassin Hinds says. 

“They didn’t _leave_ this for me! They died!” Evie is nearly wretched from her sit, her grapes on my wrist loosening at the last moment as I bring both fists down on the table. It trembles from the impact, the old wood groaning in protest. My anger tears spill forth, dotting the table’s surface. “They died in a foolish attempt to retrieve some artefact for your guild!” I’m ashamed of how my voice cracks when I speak, but there’s little I can do about it. Whatever strength I wished to display before the guild evaporated when I stepped into the room. 

The Council lets this pause stretch out, forcing me to sit in my shame. Germaine clears her throat and says, “Your parents died as heroes to the guild. There is honor in that and you should recognize that truth.”

Even though blood pounds in my ear, I hear the frustrated sigh from Evie, feel the subtle tension build in her. But I don’t say anything, not when there’s iron on my tongue from how hard I bit into my cheek. 

Hinds waits a moment longer before continuing. “As I was saying: you’re free to work with the Fryes and Henry. What little intel we have is yours to sift through. There will be other assassins on the hunt for this artefact. But do not let that deter you from your search.”

Evie moves her hand under the table, her fingers grazing my knee before she cups it gently. Everyone sees it and if my mind were clearer, I’d wonder why she acts in such a friendly way in front of the Council. “What will happen to the artefact once we retrieve it?” she asks.

I admire her confidence in the future and our success. I almost envy it.

“It’ll rest in our archives. Safe and away from others,” Assassin Fluer answers.

I snort and Evie squeezes my knee. 

“Are you okay with those terms?” Evie whispers, turning in her seat towards me. 

But I don’t look at her. I refuse to. Not when she gave me this flicker of hope that sits useless in my heart. “I’m not,” I say. “Though it doesn’t matter. It’s clear no one in this room gives a damn about what I care or think.”

Even in my anger and frustration, I see her flinch at the venom in my words. I wish I could take them back. Or aim them at someone deserving of this acid. But she’s finally been scorched by me and withdraws her hand, leaving me once again detached and on my own. 

“It’s the only offer we’ll make,” Assassin Light says. Harpe nods in agreement. 

Then what other choice do I have? 

“Fine,” I spit, rising. This room is suffocating. The walls seem to spin around me. I hook a finger in my shirt’s collar and tug at it. But it’s not enough. I need fresh air. “I’ll look for the damn sword!”

“That puts my mind at ease,” Assassin Germaine says, speaking to my back. “You were a promising student. I’m sure the lessons your parents taught you are still woven into your thoughts and actions.”

“I have burned my cloak and buried my blade.”

“But you can still return to us,” Hinds says. “We’ll temper your attitude and make you an assassin yet.”

“I’d rather die.” I slam the door behind me and walk briskly back to the entrance. Taking the stairs two at a time, I rise from the underground and suck in the air. I should wait for the others to join me. But I can’t stay here. This place reminds me too much of my before life and I feel shuddering, back-renching sobs bumbling within me. 

_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

Why did I entertain the thought of coming here? Why did I think the Council would abandon their search after hearing my plea? I can’t blame Evie. She thought, like I foolishly did, that we could sway the Council. She had hope and it latched onto me until my own thoughts ran in a different, optimistic direction. 

But now it’s caving in on me, that hope. That useless hope that failed to prove itself time and time again. 

Heading through the brush back to the road, I walk in the direction of the town. My eyes are trained on the grey smoke. I’m not sure what awaits me there. But a visit to the pub is the only way to piece myself back together. 

* * *

The conversations drown out one by one, becoming background noise to the three voices outside the bar. 

“Greenie and I will find our own way back.”

“Very well. I’ll take the carriage and escort Genevieve back to London.”

“Take care of her, Evie. She is fragile.” 

Henry and Jacob depart and Evie enters, spotting me immediately. She saddles up next to me, propping her arm on the counter and leans against it. “Will you have another round?”

I shake my head. “No.” 

She stands quietly as I finish the rest of my ale and slide off the seat. My earlier anger has withered into a smoldering heap of regret that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I can’t look directly at Evie and she walks just a few paces ahead of me. The carriage greets us as soon as we exit and we climb inside, claiming our own corners so we can sift through our thoughts. The cabin shakes and shudders gently on the cobblestone, rocking us and I focus on the motion until that lingering animosity finally slips away. I feel Evie’s eyes slide over in my direction, before darting away to glance out the window. I still can’t look at her, even when I decide to break out silence ten minutes into the ride. 

“I’m sorry for what I did and said during the meeting. I saw that it stung you.”

Her eyes widen, but she stamps down her surprise. “You were heated and weren’t thinking straight.”

That only makes me feel worse. She would so easily forgive me. “That doesn’t give me the right to lie.” Sighing, I peel myself away from the window to look at her, unsurprised to find her eyes already on me. “I know that you care. Otherwise you wouldn’t have helped during the meeting. I’m not used to that from an assassin. Not since I left the guild.”

“You’ve made that clear.” 

I….I know….I….” Why is this so hard? Why do I make this hard for myself? Why do I want to trust Evie Frye? Why do I want her to like me? “When my parents died, I had this anger but no one to focus it on. I didn’t know who to blame. The Council? My parents? Myself for failing to protect them? Finally I settled on the guild. It was the easiest largest target. Assassins hide their faces behind their hoods and it’s easy to despise a shadow that lurks around the corner.”

“What about Mr. Green? You seem fond of him.”

“We wrote to each other,” I admit. “But time and life pulled us apart. I am fond of him. I adore him as a friend. But our connection withered and that was another thing I blamed on the guild.” 

I slide over and sit directly across from her. Her hands sit in her lap and for once, I decide to initiate the contact. Hesitation strikes me for a second, but the encouraging smile from Evie is all I need to bring our hands together. I realize her palms and knuckles are calloused and rough against my own skin. It’s not an uncomfortable sensation. Just unexpected. 

“Genevieve I have no intention of betraying you. I only want to help.”

“I know that. I know,” I repeat, thinking back to the way she tensed when Germaine chastised me. “You’ve peeled back your hood and I can see the eyes of a friend. So thank you for trying and for caring.”

Her eyes almost seem like gems whenever she smiles. It warms my heart. “You’re welcome.”

Our silence now is a comfortable one. Eventually I move to sit next to her. Our hands are clasped together, but when I loosen my hold she doesn’t pull back her hand. Evie shifts, crossing her legs and stares out the window as if nothing happened. I can’t explain it, but I like being near her. There’s an air of confidence to her that is calming. Whenever I feel I’m spiraling into some dark emotion, I know I can come to her and find peace in her steady strength. 

I wonder if she feels the same about me.

“Mr. Green received documents about Excalibur,” she says. “The Council handed them over after you left. We can review them back at the hideout.”

The cabin’s rocking is getting to me and I feel myself start to drift off. Though I fight to stay awake to hear what she has to say. “Hm.”

“We’ll start tomorrow after we’ve all had a good sleep.”

“Hm.”

“I know how hard this will be for you…”

“Hm.”

“But I’m glad we get to do this together.” 

I twist to face her, my cheeks warming at the smile she gives. “W-why?”

“Something other than a hum. I’m honored,” she teases. 

“Evie.”

“Hm?”

“Jerk.”

Her laugh fills the entire cabin and I can’t fight my own smile. “I’m sorry. I just glad to see you in a better mood. And to answer your question, I’m enjoying our friendship and am eager to see how it grows during this new venture.”

“There are other, safer ways for us to get acquainted with each other.”

“I know. But sadly those avenues are unavailable right now. I’ll take what I can get and trust we’ll be better once we reach the other side.” She wraps a hand around my arm and my face burns hotter as I search her green eyes, seeing that familiar genuineness. “So we’ll both rest tonight and start that journey together in the morning.”

My mouth runs dry and I look away. But when she starts to remove her hand, I tug at her fingers with my own and she settles closer. We sit like that, bumping into each other as the carriage hits bumps in the road. Our eyes grow heavy and she’s the first to drift off. I startle as her head lands on my shoulder, her cheek pressing into my forearm with a soft murmur. I look down at her for a second, my own weariness hitting me. I close my eyes, tip my own head against the carriage’s back wall and listen to her deep breathing.

And we stay like this for the rest of our trip to London.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short, sweet chapter. Enjoy!

When the carriage slows to a stop in front of my apartment, Evie wakes and pulls away from my shoulder. I hide my frown behind my hand, uncomfortable with the new coolness that greets my body now that there’s distance between us. I hop out to the sidewalk and stretch my arms above my head. It’s a clear starry night and my stomach grumbles from lack of food.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” I say. 

“Get some rest. Good night Genevieve.”

“Good night Evie.”

I watch until the carriage rounds the corner and turn on my heel, heading away from my apartment. I pop into a pub for a sandwich and eat it while roaming the streets. I find Essie at an intersection and when she sees me, she lifts a hand to wave as she approaches. 

“Looking for me?”

“If you are free,” I say, suddenly shy. She winks and jerks her head in the direction of her apartment. I quietly trail her, polishing off the rest of my food. I don’t know if it’s pent up frustration from the Council meeting, anxiety from the upcoming mission or something else. But as soon as we enter her room, I grab Essie by the waist, pull her to me and I draw her in for a kiss, my tongue passing between her lips and eliciting a needy moan. We’re pressed close together and I soak up her warmth. Though it’s not enough to fight off this new and persistent chill. 

We part with a gasp, Essie breathing hard and her pupils blown wide in arousal. “Goodness,” she whispers, her lips brushing against mine. I have no response, my own frantic nerves inhibiting my ability to speak or think clearly. 

I scoop her up in my arms, carrying her with ease to the bed and carefully lay her down. We’re kissing again, with a passionate urgency like this is the last we’ll touch each other. Maybe it is the last time. When my hands are free, I tug at her clothing, my fingers pinching the laces of her dress and loosening it on her body. Her own fingers sink into my shirt and tug at my pants. 

My mind usually rests when I’m held by Essie. We’ve done this countless times our touches are familiar and require little thought. For these few hours, all my thoughts narrow and focus on the skills this woman possesses when her hands are between my legs. 

But tonight I feel my mind stray to this mission and the dangers ahead. It conjures up images and sensations against my will. A stone chamber with a cool, wooden table in the middle. Green eyes looking at me warmly. A hand against my wrist, fingers brushing my tightly clenched fists. Assassins in vibrant robes all scowling or frowning at me. Too many sights and sounds that are not in Essie’s room, but I experience them all the same. No matter how many times I shake my head to clear my thoughts, they come back in a near playful taunt. When I slide down Essie’s bare body, kissing the exposed skin, I chastise myself and throw myself back into these familiar actions. Nestling between Essie, I place her legs on my shoulders. Our hands meet on the bed, her nails digging into the back of my skin and I taste her. 

“Oh Neva,” she says breathlessly. 

My thoughts continue to stray, conjuring another woman in Essie’s place. I try to fight against those images, afraid of what it means. But I am tired from everything that’s happened since last night and all I want is this passionate moment with my friend. Even if it means being haunted by those soft green eyes. 

An hour has passed. Essie and I lay shoulder to shoulder on her small bed, both of us sucking in the air. The bed shifts as she rises, intending to crawl over me to leave our little nest. My hand flies to her wrist then. 

“Can you stay for a bit?” I ask. 

She leans over to kiss my cheek and I think she’s going to deny me. But she smiles and climbs off the bed. “Sure hun.”

“I’ll cover whatever wages you lose.”

“You’re sweet, but you don’t have to do that.” She squats in front of some cupboards, pulls out a glass and a previously open bottle of wine. “It was going to be a quiet night anyhow.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” She sips from the wine and offers the glass to me as she settles back on the bed. I drink a hearty fill of the liquid, leaving only a few small sips behind. It’s quiet between us. I can hear the faint moans of the other women and their customers for the hour. How many more night will I be able to experience this? How many more nights can I share a bed with Essie? Of course, we will stay in London for a time to work out where the sword may be. But eventually we will need to travel outside the city to the vault’s location. I’m not sure what comes after that. 

Even though I’m working with Evie, Jacob and Henry, I can’t let that sword fall into the Assassins’ hands. 

“Who were you touching?”

I blink as I drift away from my inner worries. “What?”

“When we were fucking, you were thinking of someone else.  _ Touching  _ someone else. Who was it?”

I force a smile, though I feel guilty and ashamed for so easily being caught. I push up on my elbow and slip a hand under the covers to pinch her right nipple. She moans lowly, her back arching off the bed. “You of course,” I lie. “Want me to do it again?”

“N-no. Not yet.”

I pull my hand back, smirking. “In a few minutes then.”

She hums. “And after you tell the truth.”

“What truth?”

“Neva! Don’t ignore my question.”

I lace my fingers behind my head and stare at the ceiling, pretending to think of an answer. “No one,” I say, which sits in the middle of truth and lie. My mind wandered several times and my heart yearned for a body that is much more muscular than Essie’s, but still soft and warm. But I wasn’t actively thinking of another woman. It was just a fantasy.

“You’re a great lover Genevieve. I know your touches, even if blindfolded--”

“Shall we try that one day?”

She scoffs. “Quit distracting me. I know your touches and tonight they were different. Pleasurable all the same, though not meant for me. Even your kisses were different,” she says, touching her bottom lip. “Passionate. Intended for someone else.”

“I’m sorry Essie. I didn’t mean….”

“Hush.” She kisses me, teasing me with the tip of her tongue. “I cummed, didn’t I? You’re not the first to think of another while pleasuring me. You won’t be the last. Don’t feel guilty for it just because we’re friends. I knew I’d eventually lose you to another woman.”

“Yet there’s no other woman in my life,” I say.

“What about this Miss Frye? You two made up, didn’t you?”

Evie? I nearly laugh at the thought. She’s attractive and easy to talk to. I’m drawn to her, some part of me always searching for her warmth. But….no, it wasn’t her. I sigh. “We have made up. Though solely as close acquaintances.” Which doesn’t feel like the right title. Not after our innocent touches. Not when she managed to step around my defenses and listen as I opened up about my past. She said we were friends, that she wanted us to be friends. And I couldn’t dispute that I desired the same thing. 

Essie rolls her eyes as though I’ve said something ludicrous. “There is a woman on your mind. Though perhaps, you haven’t realized it yet.”

“Whatever.”

The covers fall from her body as she rises and straddles my lap. I inhale, try to focus on her face and not her round breasts that are marred from my earlier kisses. She reaches for my wrists, brings my hand to rest on her thigh dangerously close to where it meets her hip. “Well until you accept that I’m telling the truth, I shall continue to enjoy myself with you.” 

“It’ll take years before I find someone to love me.” My hand slides down her thigh, brushing the soft skin before inching closer to the patch of hair between her legs. I’m slow with my touch, drawing out the anticipation, though we’re both aware of what comes next. I watch her face carefully, memorizing the tiniest changes in her expression and body as I tease her. 

Essie bites her bottom lip, her hips twitching and she looks down at me through hooded lids. “Don’t talk about yourself lik--ahh.” 

I slip two fingers inside her and she grips my wrist with one hand, encouraging me to keep going. I’m happy to comply, using this as a distraction from this strange conversation between us. Soon she’s hunched over, blindly searching for my lips to kiss and her own hand slides between my legs to touch me. And our sighs and moans join the chorus from the other rooms. 

* * *

Somewhere in London, a clock tower chime twice and the sound echoes over the city, the faint sound slipping through the open window. Essie’s arm is slung over my stomach in a loose embrace and her cheek rests on my shoulder. Her breathing is slow and even, but she shifts, trying to find a comfortable spot before she falls asleep. My arm hangs over the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing against the wine bottle on the floor. 

In a few hours, the sun will rise, I’ll dress, grab some breakfast and head to Bertha to work with Evie and the others to find Excalibur. It will take me from London. Eventually. But at least I have this night. 

“Hey Essie?”

“Yes hun’?”

“Let’s go on a vacation.”

She hums in approval and smiles against me. “Where to?”

“The beach. Another country. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just somewhere and get away for a short time.”

“Sounds lovely,” she whispers. “How about we travel after the winter?”

So long away and yet it gives me reason to not perish on this mission. It gives me a way to slip back into my normal life after we locate Excalibur. And it would be a welcomed rest after what will be a draining mission. 

“I look forward to it.” 

Essie shifts again, pressing closer to me and we both settle in preparation to sleep for the night. As I listen to her breathing, I try to imagine what this would feel like with a woman that I deeply love. Evie’s words from earlier in the day ring in my mind. How I deserve a quiet life and a nice cottage to live in. This would be part of that life. A companion. A lover. Someone who wouldn’t leave. 

I used to want that life with Essie. I would hold my breath and wait for the day when she’d look at me and realize I was the answer. But that day never came. And now, I don’t think I want it to arrive. 

I love Essie. Always will. But she’s not who I truly desire. 

Still, I can’t deny that resting in her embrace while she sleeps on my shoulder is a pleasure that I’m grateful for. 

She snores against me, her brow twitching as she dreams. I watch her for a moment, wonder what she dreams about and whether I’m there beside her. Twisting my neck, I press my lips to her forehead, whisper ‘good night’ into her skin and close my eyes, drifting off to my own dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

The streets in Whitechapel are bustling with life in the morning and it’s the noise that wakes us. Essie and I are slow to start our day, lounging under the covers and soaking up the last dregs of warmth before we’re hit by the cold air that slipped in overnight. Her soft purr fills my ears as my fingers dance down her spine. 

“Good morning hun’. Ready for breakfast?”

“Hmm...I’d rather stay here.” But I can’t. I promised to meet Evie to get started on this new mission. I would prolong it for as long as I can, but knowing her, she’ll turn up in Whitechapel searching for me if I’m not on the train by a certain hour. “I am hungry. Why don’t you pick a place?”

We run through our usual routine, dressing quietly and quickly. Essie collects her hair in one hand, giving me access to the laces at the back of her dress. “Did you ever figure out who you were thinking about last night?” she asks, looking at me through the smudged mirror.

“Nope.”

She sucks her teeth, a cheeky grin on her lips. “Don’t be so distant. You know you’re a lovely woman.” 

“I’m sure I am.” 

“This woman will have her hands full with you,” she says, sighing. Her hair sweeps back over her shoulders and back and she grabs some pins to pull it up and away from her face. “Luckily for her, I know all your sensitive spots.”

I scoff. “You would dare give away my secrets with such ease?”

She smiles over her shoulder, her dark eyes bright. “Oh yes. If it meant I get to see you flustered and in love.”

Now that it’s late in the morning, the sidewalks aren’t as packed when we leave her apartment. Essie picks a pub nestled between her apartment and mine. We head in that direction and without much thought, I begin scanning the rooftops. Essie notices and nudges shoulders with me. 

“What’re you looking for?”

“No one.”

“Huh?”

I realize my mistake instantly and try to backtrack. “I mean nothing. I’m not looking for anything.”

“Or anyone apparently,” she says, chuckling. She touches my arm. “Oh you’re positively smitten with someone.”

“No I’m not!”

Essie rolls her eyes with a knowing smile and continues walking, ending our conversation for now. I wonder how she can determine such things, if there’s anything that gives me away or if I’m acting in a new way. Essie’s always been good at reading people. It’s part of her job. What does she see that I don’t? Or what emotion is she picking up on that I fail to see or notice? I want to press her and find out the truth. If I can pinpoint the specific emotion or action that’s clueing her in, then I can bury it. Suppress it and hide it away. I can’t afford to be swept away by infatuations or romantic love for another person. Not when Excalibur swings overhead. Not when I’ll be forced to leave London once this is all over.

It would be nice to come back to someone. To fall into someone’s waiting arms and know that I’ll be held with tenderness and love. Essie will be here, ready to sweep me in her arms when I return.. Though it wouldn’t be enough because there’s a time limit to her affections. Last night, while nice and much needed, was a rare occurrence. Even with our friendship, I can’t rely on her and rob her of her livelihood because of my broken past. 

Though it also wouldn’t be good to place all that at any potential lover’s feet. Would it be fair to have a lover at all? Do I even deserve such graciousness, consideration and patience? 

“Neva?”

“Hm?”

Essie’s hand touches the crook of my elbow and she stops, forcing me to stop along with her. I look up, following her line of sight and spot Evie there at the corner. She’s staring back, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. In the sunlight, her dark hair shines like a precious metal and her green eyes nearly sparkle. And I’m happy to see her, my own smile spreading across my face the longer I stare. She wears a new outfit. Blue-grey cloak with dark blue embroidery along the flaps and a royal purple material stitched on the inside of the hood. Her vest matches the purple inside the hood and she wears a white shirt underneath. Her grey boots run up to her thighs, the dark blue pants tucked into the boots. And her hair is in that signature braided bun. 

I run a hand down my clothes, sweeping any stray dust away. Essie looks back and forth between us and there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“It’s Miss Frye,” I say. “Evie. I-I’ll see if she wants to join us for breakfast if that’s okay.”

“Oh yes! That would be lovely.” 

I narrow my eyes. “You’re plotting something.”

“Am not. Go on before she thinks we’re being mean-spirited.” Her shove has little strength to it, not enough to really propel me forward. But I’m walking ahead anyway.

“Morning,” Evie greets, voice clear and cheery. 

“Morning. I planned on coming to the train after eating breakfast.”

“Oh. That’s fine.” She rubs her arm. “I wasn’t trying to rush you. I just thought you’d like company after last night.” Her green eyes flick up to look over my shoulder. “But you’re with someone already. I’ll meet you back on Bertha.”

I smile, still tickled by such a silly name for a train. “It’s fine. Essie’s a friend. Join us for breakfast, then we can set off for the day. I imagine it will be a long one.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll take breaks. You don’t need to push yourself.” She places two fingers against my arm, smiles softly and warmly and I want to sink into that comfort. 

But Essie’s waiting. And watching. I jerk my head to point behind me and tell her to follow along. My heart is racing, my palms drenched in sweat as we draw closer. I want to keep Essie as far from the Brotherhood as I can. If something were to happen to her because of my fleeting affiliation with the guild, I’d never forgive myself. 

Plus, during those weeks when Evie was trailing me and observing from a distance, there was always some strange aura about her when I visited Essie. It felt almost like disapproval. Or jealousy. Can’t imagine what or who she was jealous of. But it was there all the same. 

I’m not sure how she’ll react to formally meeting Essie. 

“Miss Frye, you are as beautiful as your brother is handsome.”

Evie startles and raises an eyebrow. “You’ve met Jacob?” she asks, accepting the hand Essie offers. 

“I have. He visited me once. Very charming and personable. And he has a lovely smile. Much like you.”

“I….thank you.” A bridge of scarlet stretches across her nose, nearly drowning out her freckles. 

“Are you flirting?” I ask. 

“I am. Everyone’s a potential customer.” Essie winks and spins on her heel. “It worked well on you, didn’t it?”

“Hey!”

“Come on. I’m hungry.” 

Evie and I follow after her. “I thought you said she’s a friend,” she whispers. 

“I am,” Essie replies. At the pub, I hold the door open for them to slip inside. We find a table near the back of the room and whatever anxiety I had about the two women meeting is quickly dissolved as Essie and Evie launch into an easy conversation. They pause long enough to tell me what they’d like to order and as I head to the counter, I hear Essie dip into the highlights of her past that she’s shared with me before. When we receive our food, I sit in silence and tune in and out to their conversation. 

There’s a lull towards the end of our meal. Essie’s the first to finish and she dabs at the corners of her mouth, props her elbow on the table and rests her cheek in her palm. Evie sips from her mug of tea, her gaze directed towards a window. This would be the perfect way to pass the morning if things were normal. But the mission looms over me and I can’t put it off any longer. 

“We should leave soon,” I whisper, keeping my voice low so only we can hear. Her fingers skim across my knee under the table. I catch her eye, try to show a confidence and calmness that I do not feel. 

Once outside, Essie leans up to kiss the corner of my mouth. She looks at Evie, silently asking if it’s appropriate to do the same to her. But Evie gives a polite nod instead. 

“Be safe hun.”

“I will. I’ll come see you when I can,” I say. 

Essie looks at Evie again. “Keep an eye on her. She’s special to me.”

“Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.”

Evie stands quietly by my side as I watch Essie depart and become part of the crowd. “Can we stop by my apartment?” I ask quietly. “I’d like to pick up my parents’ journal. It may have clues to help with our search.” 

“Of course.”

As we walk, first to my apartment, then to the train station, I think over Evie’s final words to Essie. I’m in  _ good  _ hands. Her hands specifically. Her warm hands that reached for me in comfort, that held me when I trembled, that wiped my tears as my cracks showed through for the first time in years. 

I pause on the sidewalk, step to the side to keep from bumping into others. Evie notices immediately and stands before me. I look at her hands, covered in the leather bracers with sharp metal on the knuckles. I can’t escape the duality of her hands. A comfort and a weapon. With a simple squeeze her hands are a source of reassurance or a conduit of death. I have experienced that contrast. Have felt that sharp sting of her hands, clenched into tight fists, against my jaw. Have melted into those same hands caressing my arm, massaging the tension from my muscles. Like so many times before, I’m struck with the realization that I should leave Evie, sever our friendship before it can even take root. 

Yet it’s too late for that. Because I’m addicted to that comfort that she provides. Her hands will lead me out of this darkness, will hold me when I can’t breathe. 

She touches my palm with two fingers, her green eyes boring into me. “Hey? I’m here. I’m not going anyway. I promise.”

I smile at this because I know this comes from Evie Frye, the friend that I trust, not the assassin that I fear. “I know. Thank you.” I hold her two fingers, thankful for the goodness in her hands and hope some of it will rub off on me.

* * *

We learn little that first day. The documents the Council provided offered little and most of the information conflicts in some way. The vault could be anywhere on the isle. There’s even a historical letter that suggests Arthur’s remains and the sword may be in France or Spain. 

Henry and Evie write the names of towns and provinces on scraps of paper and pin them to the wall under my parents’ portraits. By the time they’re done, there’s a list of fifteen sights to investigate. Jacob stands with his hands on his hips, his lips puckered to the side as he thinks. I’m on the couch and look at him over the top of my parents’ journal, though I’ve read nothing in the hours that we’ve worked. 

“Any thoughts on where to begin?” he asks. He’s focused on the board and the lengths of twine that Evie and Henry work to connect, but I know he’s speaking to me. I inhale and stretch my back, setting the journal to the side. I look at the locations, each one as foreign to me as the surface of the moon. 

“None,” I admit. I look at Evie, remembering what she said about her love for Arthur and those tales. “What about you? You said you know a lot about King Arthur. Any names stand out to you?” 

A blush creeps up her neck and cheek and she turns away, narrowly missing the smirk on her brother’s face. “Oh, uh, no. Nothing in particular.”

I raise an eyebrow, looking back and forth between the twins. I chew the inside of my cheek and make a note to apologize later once it’s just the two of us. 

“There’s rumors and whispers of a new Templar taking over soon,” Henry says. “They could become a problem within a few days or weeks. We might want to consider surveilling them to get a feel for what they know.”

“You’re speaking my language Greenie! We’ll round up the Rooks, tell them to patrol the streets and make their presence known.”

“But we don’t want to tip our hand Jacob.” Even from where I sit on the couch, I can see the vein pulsating along Evie’s temple. “For once we’re at the advantage. We should keep it that way.”

“And we will,” Henry says. It’s clear he’s experienced with these arguments between the twins. He stands directly between them, looking back and forth. Jacob smiles at his sister, his green eyes alight with mischief. “Jacob and I can scout around the city and search for some leads. Evie, you and Genevieve can try to narrow down this list. Make it manageable.” 

Evie turns to me, crossing her arms over her chest. There’s still a faint pink flush that covers her neck and cheeks, but she ignores it. “Is that agreeable? This is your mission. We’re here for support.” 

I look up at my parents’ portrait wondering if I’m doing the right thing. Would they ask this of me if they were still alive? Or would they tell me to leave it to the guild and move on with my life? I just want to make them proud. 

“As long as we retrieve the sword, I don’t care how we go about our duties.”

Henry and Jacob depart right after, both swearing to remain on their best behaviors while out on the streets. I suspect Jacob will cause some small amount of chaos. It’s possibly in his nature to do so. But I feel better knowing that Henry will be his shadow for the day. 

Evie and I work together, pouring over the texts and sharing tidbits that we believe are helpful in shortening the list of locations. During lulls in our work, I try to return to my parents’ journal, but find the text difficult to read through my tears. It lays abandoned on the sofa for most of the day and into the evening. I catch Evie staring at it, her desire to examine it for herself barely concealed in her eyes. She’s gracious enough not to ask for it or to reach for it without my consent. I’m sure she’d have better luck reading through it. But the journal is one of the last, most intimate connections to my parents. I’m too afraid to share with anyone. 

We work mostly in silence, breaking it only to call the other’s attention to some passage or potential clue. I’m aware of her presence, even if she’s as still and silent as a shadow against a wall. But our shared silence, much like our previous conversations, comes with ease as if this is routine for us. And once or twice I find myself smiling at the mere thought of us being in the same room. 

When a bell tower chimes five, we both look up and out the window. Evie rises from her end of the sofa and stretches her arms above her head. Despite the quickly cooling air outside the train, this cabin interior is warm and cozy, the perfect temperature for a snooze. But my body has other plans, grumbling and whining from lack of attention or care during these past few hours. 

“We should eat,” Evie says, standing with her leg cocked out to the side and her hands on her hips. “There’s no telling when Jacob and Henry will return. I don’t mind dining alone and I imagine you’ve had your fill of me for the day. So….”

I shake my head with a smile. “If you can spare the provisions, I’d happily dine here with you.”

The smile I receive is a slow burning warmth like that of a fire in the hearth that welcomes weary travelers after a long journey. I scratch at my chest, feeling some strange jump where my heart is. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next two chapters will be mostly fluff between Evie and Genevieve! They should be posted soon! I'm especially proud of the next chapter! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a nice, long, fluffy chapter. Enjoy!

Droplets of condensation roll down the pint glass’ walls, the ale inside nearly empty and sloshing about as I bring it to my mouth for a quick sip. 

Evie sent a Rook out to retrieve a meal for us and slipped into her room to ‘freshen up’ before eating. I parked myself at the bar’s counter since she left my side, nursing this ale and running my finger over the journal’s cover. I know it’s brimming with secrets, musings from my parents and maybe even little notes, sweet and sentimental in nature, meant to be discovered by one of the pair to remind them of the love that existed between them. I have countless memories of my parents and this journal. Sunny days in Mother’s lap while she scribbled in the margins, holding it just slightly out of my reach. Or rainy afternoons in our study, me at my small desk with Father at his larger table, hunched over with his hand sailing across the page. The journal was thrust into my hands when they died, the secrets my treasure to discover should I ever want to. 

And now I have the perfect reason to read all that sits on the page. Yet I’m afraid of what I’ll find. 

“You handle it with such care.”

I jump, my skin crawling from the suddenness and proximity of Evie’s voice. My hand knocks into the glass, threatening to topple it and send my drink across the counter. But we both reach for it, Evie’s hand covering mine on top of the glass. And when the drink stands still, we jerk our hands back. 

“Uh yeah. It meant a lot to my parents,” I say, refusing to let that brief feeling of awkwardness take root between us. “I’ve carried it with me for years. But this is the first I’ve ever sat down and attempted to read it.”

“Not even a peek?”

“No,” I say. “It felt like an invasion. Or a rushed, poorly constructed invitation. I’m sure they meant for me to have it. Just not as soon as it landed in my lap.”

“A heavy responsibility I’m certain.” She looks at the journal, glances up at me, the corner of her mouth pulled back in a smile. She smiles so easily whenever she looks at me. Not in a mocking way. But in a soft manner as if I’m a pleasant sight. “You don’t have to push yourself or feel pressured to read it from cover to cover.”

“But what if there’s something valuable to us? To the mission?”

“We’ll manage without.”

The Rook returns with our food and I pour two pints of beer for us. We talk over our meals, normal conversations that seem to carry great weight. Our friendship is still so new and there are so many things we are yet to discover about each other. It’s exhilarating. Even the things that seem mundane. Learning that Evie prefers steak to be cooked with a slightly pink center feels like unearthing long lost treasure. 

All too soon our meal ends, our glasses are empty, but our conversation never ceases. I make for the bar, refilling our beers to the top and lick the foam that spills from over the rim. Soon, the car is packed with Rooks venturing to the train for some entertainment to end their night. We clear away from the bar, making room for a makeshift dance floor. A fiddle cuts through the silence of the evening, the note playing louder than the train’s whistle. Another Rook produces a harmonica from his back pocket and a song is quickly agreed upon, some diddy native to Britain. 

Evie leans against the far wall, watching over the rim of her glass as three pairs of dances file onto the small space and spin, waltz and jerk in tune with the music. The remaining Rooks clap and stomp their feet keeping time with the fiddler and harmonica player. Yips, cheers and whistles serve as the chorus and it feels like I’m in the rowdiest bar in Whitechapel. 

I drank the second beer faster than the first and even with the food in our bellies, my tongue is looser, my mind a boozy, warm fog and I spin to face Evie. “Do you dance?”

She chuckles, short and light, her green eyes sparkling in the light. “I’m afraid not.”

“Aw c’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m sure it will be. But I’ll observe from my perch.” 

“Evie….”

But she slides behind me and with one hand pushes me closer to the dancefloor. “Go on. I’ll watch from here.” She smiles and brings her glass up for a sip. 

I start to protest further, but a warm hand wraps around my wrist and I hear a ‘I’ll dance with you’ over the music, the words spoken by a Rook with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. Evie raises her brows in approval and though I grin back at her, I can’t ignore the roll of disappointment in my gut. 

“If you accept someone else’s invitation to dance, I will be so upset with you,” I tease. 

But Evie doesn’t respond. Just nods and jerks her head as if to say ‘go on with the pretty girl,’ which I do, sliding my arm around her waist and twirling her just as we join the other dancers. The space feels smaller than I anticipated, but that doesn’t stop us from prancing around, knocking into other dancers, eliciting giggles and laughter from those who watch. The song comes to an end and my original partner leaves me with a quick head bow. A tall man with sleek brown hair steps up to me then and holds up his hands, smiling shyly. 

We struggle, both of us trying to lead. But he blushes and smiles through the entire song without complaint. When it comes to an end, I keep my hold on him and follow his lead. It’s nice being spun around and gliding in the wake of another’s direction. We part after the second song, though I hope to dance with him again before the night ends. 

On and on I go, changing partners, twirling around the room in time with the music, the mission forgotten for these glorious moments. Sweat builds on my brow and my clothes start to stick to my skin, but I don’t stop and the crowd encourages the musicians to ‘go another round, go another round!’ I’ve lost count of the number of songs played or the people I’ve danced with. The shy man from earlier slides back into my hold and this time he lets me lead him, his hand twitching on my hip anytime I spin him just a bit too quickly. 

My laughter never ends, my cheers blending with the others in this tiny car. Just as I think to leave the dance floor and do something about my sudden thirst, Evie slides up to me. Her cheeks are red, the thin strands of hair that hangs from her braid sticks to her face and the sleeves of her shirt are rolled up to her elbows. 

“I hope you’re not too upset with me,” she says, grinning. “You were having so much fun, I decided to join in.”

I saw her enter the fray minutes ago, clinging to the arm of a man with shaggy blonde hair who was about her height. Just as I felt some strange ounce of jealousy, she glanced at me with a shy smile and I knew she’d find a way to partner with me before the night ended. 

Her hand settles where my neck and shoulder meet, the other clasps around mine as I put an arm around her waist. She tilts her head up by a fraction to lock eyes with me. “You wound me Miss Frye,” I say. “But you can easily remedy this?”

“How?” Her warmth breath blows in a puff against my neck. There’s space between us for a thin sheet of parchment, yet when I pull her closer to the point where our bodies connect she doesn’t protest or lean away. 

The music starts and she follows my lead, her green eyes on me as she waits for a response. “Be my last dance of the night.”

“Funny. I planned to ask you the same thing.” 

Evie moves like water against me, anticipating my steps yet never moving ahead of me. She dances like she fights with a strong confidence to her moves. I try to focus on the music, to stay in sync with the notes and the other dancers. But Evie releases a laugh as I spin her and it feels like we’re in our own world. Her nails dig into the back of my neck, a gentle kneading that creates a strange pull in the pit of my stomach and my heart. She’s so close I could count the exact number of freckles on her face. 

This is to be our last dance for the night, but a tiny voice begs for the song to never end. 

“Oi! Careful!” 

I look over my shoulder, smiling and apologizing to the man I knocked into. I maneuver us away from the other couple, noting that the music seems to be slowing down. 

“You seem distracted,” Evie says. 

“A bit thirsty,” I admit.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

I squeeze her hand. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad for our dance.” We pass by the window and I blink, glimpsing the outside world as if for the first time. It seems dull. Colorless. Quiet. So different from what’s inside this car. 

“I’m glad as well. I wish I accepted your first offer to dance.”

“There’s always next time.”

“Oh so many ‘next times’ for us it seems.” 

The song ends then and reluctantly I let her go, but she takes my wrist and leads me to a corner. “I’ll get you something to drink.”

She comes back with a glass of water that I frown at. “No more beer?”

“No more for us,” she says, handing the glass to me. “We shouldn’t be too foggy in the morning.” 

I pout, but drink the water and am instantly refreshed from something cool after such a long time dancing. We brace ourselves as the train slows and comes to a stop with a slight jerk. I look out the window again, try and fail to discern what borough we’re in. 

“We’re in the Strand, I believe,” Evie says, seeing the question on my face. Not too far from Whitechapel, but not a quick stroll either. “You can stay here for the night. It’ll probably be convenient for the mission. We can pick up where we left off in the morning.”

“Can you read my mind?”

“I would never tell such a valuable secret.” She brings a hand to her chest in mock admonishment. 

“Not even to me, your dearest friend?”

“Afraid not Miss Tillman _. _ ” 

I roll my eyes. “Fine. I’ll stay so long as I’m not a bother.”

“Never.”

I follow her out the car, waving farewell to my new companions. “Ah this air feels delightful.”

She jumps to the small platform with ease and I copy her movement. “Then we can sleep with the window open if you like.”

I’m glad she said this once I’m safely on the metal platform, for my knees quake from her words. Of course we’d share the room. But were we to share the bed as well? Before I can say anything, we enter the next car and come face to face with Jacob. He flings his top hat on the green sofa and shrugs off his cloak. He looks at me, then his sister. 

“Fun night?” he asks

“Yes. Very enjoyable. Did you and Mr. Green learn anything while you were out?”

“Whispers to trail in the daylight. But someone is coming and soon it seems.”

Crawford Starrick’s body was barely cold and already the Templars had his replacement en route to London. Dread pools in my stomach at the thought of facing this new foe. But if they’re after Excalibur as well, then our paths will cross eventually. I wonder if I can ask Evie to spar with me? Help me recall wisps of my training so I’m not useless out in the field. 

Jacob scratches at the underside of his chin and Evie narrows her eyes. 

“Did you get into a scuffle?”

“What?” Jacob asks. 

Evie points her brother’s neck, then brings her finger to the approximate spot on her own neck. “You’ve got a mark here,” she says, tilting her chin up. “Did someone get the jump on you?” 

There’s several feet separating us, but despite the distance and the dim light, I can tell that the mark of Jacob’s neck was made by teeth. By someone deliberately biting down on his neck. I don’t know if Evie is being deliberately obtuse or if she’s genuinely unaware of how the bruise came into existence. 

Jacob flushes, confirming my suspicions. “There was a quick brawl. One of the underlings probably got a cheap shot in. You know how things are in the thick of it.” Evie nods easily swallowing the lie he fed her. I decide not to say anything. Clearly he’s not interested in sharing with us. Jacob claps his hands together. “But the best cure is a cold ale. Genevieve, don’t tell me you’re retiring already?”

“I’m pretty wiped.”

“Pity. I’ll drink with you another night.” He claps me on the shoulder and walks away. 

“Don’t stay up too late,” Evie calls.

“Right. Right. Don’t worry. Good night you two.”

My earlier dread gives way to nervousness again as we enter Evie’s cart. I tell myself not to worry. It’s not a major deal. I settle on the side of the bed and kick off my boots. If Evie wants me elsewhere, I’ll gladly take the seat in front of the fire. If she’s fine with me on the bed, well, we’ve shared a bed before. It wasn’t a big deal then. It shouldn’t be now. 

Evie disappears behind a partition. I spot a basin with water on a wooden table and wash my face to distract myself. “Would you like a change of clothes?” she asks.

“No. I’m fine. Everything is pretty loose,” I answer. I climb on the bed again, roll over until my back meets the wall and wait. When she comes from behind the partition, she’s in a loose blouse that falls to her hips and pants that seem to drape on her. She perches on the edge, her fingers working at pins in her hair. If these sleepovers continue to happen, I’ll offer to help one night. 

“I never realized how long your hair is.”

It falls in loose ringlets down her back, stopping several inches below her shoulders. She gathers it in one hand, drapes it over one shoulder. She looks like royalty from the legends that entertained us as children. “Best to keep it up,” she says. “Harder for someone to grab it in a fight.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a problem if you avoid being grabbed in the first place,” I tease, keeping my voice light.

“You’re one to talk.” She looks at me with a mock glare. 

“Ouch. Second time you wound me tonight.”

“I would never harm you Genevieve.” She rises then to turn off the light near the door and opens two small windows. “As promised, some fresh air for you.”

And yet the room feels considerably warmer as she slides under the covers next to me. The mattress shifts as she turns to her side. I roll over towards her. “You were worried earlier.”

“Huh?” I ask. 

“When Jacob talked about Starrick’s replacement, you were weighed down for a moment. I felt it.”

“Hm.” I try not to think on how carefully she watches me, how closely she tunes into my emotions and body language. I think to skirt around the issue. She believed Jacob’s lie earlier. Surely she’ll believe whatever lie I tell as well. But I can’t bring myself to do it. And if she watches me as closely as I suspect, she’ll know I’m holding back before I even utter a word. “It makes this mission seem that much more real. Brings it closer to a dangerous place I wish to avoid. If it was just me, maybe I wouldn’t feel so afraid. Or maybe I wouldn’t let my fear seize me like it does.”

“We defeated Starrick. We can defeat whoever replaces him. The danger is there, but it’s not impossible to overcome.”

“Yeah but….” I suck my teeth and focus at a point over her shoulder. Though I can only see the darkness beyond. “I want to keep people safe. Like Essie. I’m working hard to keep her separate from this life. She can’t fight off Templars like we can. Knowing that Starrick’s replacement is just around the corner makes me anxious. I wish I was on this mission alone. That you, Jacob and Henry weren’t involved.”

“Why?” I don’t miss the crack in her voice.

“Because I feel a responsibility to you all. When you enter a vault, you submit yourself to the possibility of death. I will gladly make that submission to accomplish this mission. But I hate that you’re being forced to do it alongside me.”

Her hand moves under the covers, searching for my own and when our fingers brush together it feels like being struck by lightning and being held against a fire. The spark is sudden and intense, a jolt to my heart that I want to feel again and again. 

Strange given that we’ve done this so often before. 

“I am capable of fending for myself. You know this.”

“Yet it does little to subdue my fears. We may be graced with some divinity or magic or some special force that gives us sharp senses and near impossible strength. But we are still mortals, capable of bleeding and dying just like everyone else.”

“And yet we have our experience to fall back on for protection.”

“Is that enough?”

“I can’t know,” she answers. Her thumb swipes across my knuckles and I chew my bottom lip, waiting. “But it’s gotten me this far in life. You have such a big heart Genevieve and I’m touched you care for me and my safety. But I will not let you walk into that vault alone. If you wish to be responsible for me, then please let me be responsible for you.”

“I’m a big responsibility.”

“So am I. And I carry another with me.” She nuzzles into the long pillow that we share and contorts our hands so that our palms touch. 

“Just promise me you’ll stay safe,” I whisper. 

“As safe as I can in this line of work.” 

Which is the best promise I can get from her. I’m still afraid of Starrick’s replacement and what they may do. It lights a fire under me, forcing me to work harder to secure Excalibur. 

Evie shifts, I think closer to me, but it’s hard to tell. She’s fighting to stay awake, but we’re both exhausted from the day. She suppresses a yawn and sighs. 

“You should rest.”

“So should you, Genevieve.”

I smile, look her in the eye. “Good night Evie,” I whisper. 

She hums. “Good night Genevieve. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I squeeze her hand. “I’ll be here.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for a late posting! I got swept up in the holiday season. I hope to get back to a regular posting schedule soon!

I wake before Evie, snug and content under the covers. The fire in the small hearth died overnight and while sunlight enters through the windows, it’s not enough to explain how warm I am. As my vision clears, I realize where the warmth comes from. Overnight, Evie and I moved closer. Starting on opposite sides of the bed, we’re now both in the middle, our shoulders nearly touching. Her hand lightly grasps my shirt as if to keep me from fleeing in my sleep. My hands rest on the mattress, pressed close to my chest, but I’ve tucked myself ever so slightly under Evie’s chin. It’s not an uncomfortable position and I want to fall back asleep like this. 

“Seems we take our responsibilities to each other quite seriously,” I whisper, chuckling to myself. The puff of warm air disturbs Evie’s sleep. She groans, her hand tightening on my shirt as a reflex. I shut my eyes, anticipating she’ll wake at this moment. But she relaxes too and continues her deep slumber. I crack open one eye, smile and take in her face in the early morning golden light. 

And my heart does a heavy _thud_ against my chest. My face warms and I know if she wakes now, I’ll struggle to explain why I’m staring at her. But I can’t peel my eyes away. She looks so peaceful and beautiful right now. If I ever tried to tell her, my tongue would twist in a series of knots and the sweat on my palms would flood the car. 

So I can never tell her. But I will let the thought live in my mind, light and free as if a butterfly with newfound wings.

I drift off again, stirring when I feel Evie shift besides me. This time as I dozed, I moved closer until my head was properly propped under her chin and my face rested close to her neck. My dreams of steel and flowers are interrupted when she slowly pulls away. I keep my eyes shut, refusing to speak to her so soon after being practically wrapped in her arms. I can’t put us through that embarrassment. 

She rises and emits the tiniest groan. I expect her to begin her day, to splash water on her face or lay out new clothes before freshening up. I’m happy to soak up the bed’s comfort for a few minutes longer so she’ll have her privacy. 

But I’m forced to kill the gasp that builds in the back of my throat when I feel her moving near the bed again. She draws the covers to my shoulders and her hand lingers for a second too long. She makes some noise. A chuckle. Or a sigh. Or a soft click of her tongue. I can’t tell. But the hand on my shoulder moves to my cheek. She rests the back of her hand there for a second before snatching it away. 

I listen to the soft padding of her bare feet on the floor and wonder what flickering emotion flashed across her face. 

I wait until I believe it’s safe to do so and pretend to wake for the first time. Evie’s at her desk, her fingers working in her brown tresses to braid and pin it into her signature bun. But she pauses at the sounds I make and twists in her chair to greet me with a smile. We work around each other and like the dance last night, it feels as if our minds are melded together. There are no awkward shufflings or pauses or uncomfortable apologies after bumping into the other. We move around the car with an ease and familiarity that is shockingly familiar. 

I sniff at my clothes, wrinkling my nose at the smell of smoke and beer that clings to it. “I should make a stop at my apartment at some point,” I say, tucking my shirt into my pants. “Don’t want you tossing me out because I reek.”

“Why don’t you pack a small trunk to store here?” she says. “It’ll be convenient.” 

“You’ll tell me when I become a nuisance, right?” I ask, my mouth suddenly dry. 

She touches my arm. “How many times must I tell you that I enjoy your company?”

“I….I know I can be a grump sometimes and difficult to be around at times. And moody. Honestly my emotions have fluctuated so much these past few weeks and it can’t be pleasant being on the receiving end of that.”

She looks at me with wry amusement and a half smirk. “No matter how many arguments you make, I still don’t plan on fleeing. So we’ll go to your apartment this evening, pick up your small trunk and return to the train where you’re welcomed to stay until this mission is over.”

 _What about after the mission,_ I bite back. “A-alright.”

“Come on. Let’s meet up with my brother and Mr. Green. No doubt Jacob is eager to return to the streets.”

Evie’s prediction becomes reality as Jacob all but launches out the train after a short meeting between us. Henry follows after him, smiling sheepishly as he wished us a good day. Evie and I set to work in different corners of the car. She unfurls worn scrolls and pieces of parchment to read. I fiddle with my parents’ journal in my pocket before deciding to help her with the information that the Brotherhood, ignoring the concerned look she gives me. 

Working silently, we’re able to narrow the list of potential locations down to just seven places, all but one situated far from London. 

“Do you feel like a field trip?” Evie asks. She smiles, but it slowly dissolves the longer she stares at me. I’m suddenly cold and it’s not until she grips my wrist do I realize I’m trembling. I inhale a shuddering breath and wipe at my eyes. “I can go alone.”

But the thought of letting her enter a vault by herself scares me more than I ever imagined. “No, I’ll accompany you.”

She leads me to the couch, sitting and pulling me down next to her. She keeps one hand on my wrist and presses the back of her other hand to my forehead. “You look spooked. Sit and I’ll get you a wet rag.”

She’s gone before I can protest. I cup the back of my neck, shocked at the damp skin I feel. I’m not sure what’s happening to me. My skin is clammy, my mouth dry, my hands shaking before me. My breathing is shallow, almost like a wheeze and my heart races in my chest. When Evie returns, I’m leaning too far forward on the couch and she kneels in front of me, places a firm hand on my shoulder and holds the cloth against my forehead with her other hand. 

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” I whisper. My eyes shut automatically. I don’t feel that much better, but the cool water from the cloth helps. 

“I’m not,” Evie says. “Let’s breathe together.” She exaggerates her inhales, blows warm air against my face. I narrow my focus, pushing out the ambient sounds until I hear only her breath and my own that’s slowly returning to a normal state. Our breaths synch together until it’s hard to tell mine from hers. My heart rate comes down, my palms no longer sweat and that sense of doom pulls away, though I still feel a precise heat from where its claws gripped my heart. 

With a gentle shove, Evie pushes me back against the sofa’s back and goes to rewet the cloth. When she returns, she sits next to me and dabs at my face. “How do you feel? Better?”

“Embarrassed.”

Her hand stills on my cheek. “Why? It’s just us here.”

“I don’t know what happened.” It was sudden and swift in its attack, pinning me in its clutches before I was aware of its presence. It was frightening. 

“I will go into the vault alone,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. But I can’t accept her words. 

“I can go with you.”

“It will be fine. I have experience with Isu vaults.”

 _So do I_ , I want to say, but don’t. Instead, I shake my head and take her hands in mine. “Please let me go. I fear what I may do if I’m forced to fret and wait for your return. I know they’re dangerous. But I will feel better if I’m there by your side.” 

She looks at me, pursing her lips together as she thinks. I don’t care that I’m pleading. I’ll take that discomfort over the warbly, phantom anxious pain I feel when I think of her in that vault alone. Evie continues to wipe at my face and we’re silent for a time. When she’s done with the cloth, she sets it to the side. 

“Okay,” she whispers. “We’ll go tomorrow. But if you experience another moment like this, we’ll leave--”

“Evie….”

“I won’t allow you to torture youself for this mission.” She takes my hands in her own. “You don’t have to carry so much, I swear.” 

I’ve longed to hear such words for over a decade. But they never came after I was orphaned. Not from any of the Brothers. Or my grandfather, though I worked to keep him the dark most of the time. I never heard them from any distant friends or relatives. I weep from Evie’s words, a lifesaver that I’ve desperately needed for so many years.

“I thank you for your compassion.”

Her thumb rubs gentle circles into my skin. “It’s reserved for those that I’m most fond of.” My face warms from both her words and her soft gaze. But I don’t avert my eyes. “Come. Let’s make preparations for tomorrow. And retrieve your trunk.” 

She pulls me up and despite feeling glum about what’s to come tomorrow, I chuckle. “Your strength is always surprising.”

“Is it?”

“Given that I have at least twenty to thirty pounds on you, yes it is.”

“That just means you’re hiding your true strength from me.” 

She dons her cloak as the train pulls to a stop at the London Bridge Station. We jump in a carriage and ride to Whitechapel. Once in the neighborhood, we pop into a general store and Evie purchases small vials of a healing salve, ammo for her pistol and other provisions. We head to my apartment then and I pull out a small traveling trunk, filling it with fresh clothes, underwear and money. Father’s hidden blade sits in the bottom drawer. I eye it, aware that Evie’s carefully watching me from the corner. When I set it on top of everything else, she opens her mouth but just as quickly closes it. 

Evie hails a carriage and instructs the driver to lug everything back to the train. “We’ll get some fresh air,” she says, answering both mine and the driver’s silent question. I walk next to her, quiet and curious as to where we are heading. There are streaks of pink and orange in the sky as the sun sets for the day and the sidewalks are filled with people shuffling from their jobs to their homes or to the market. We leave Whitechapel and enter the Strand. Evie pauses at one corner, purses her lips to the side and thinks. Whatever decision she was searching for arrives quickly as we turn down a side alley. She tells me to wait on the sidewalk before slipping inside a cafe. 

“What are you planning?” I ask when she steps out with a brown paper bag.

“You’ll see,” she says, her smile reaching her eyes.

Though I’ve lived in London for a while, I haven’t explored the other boroughs as thoroughly as I would like. Whitechapel is tucked in a corner away from everything else and I rarely saw the need to visit some of the more luxurious neighborhoods. So when Evie guides us to the border of the Strand and Westminster, I can’t help but marvel at the clean streets, finely dressed people and shops with crystal clear windows. I feel underdressed in my wrinkled shirt and trousers and my shoes are due for a good polishing. 

We pass a bridge and slide down a small, grassy incline. The bridge’s underside is empty of people, though we can hear the traffic above. Evie kneels and opens the paper bag pulling out sandwiches, a large bottle of beer and an assortment of fruit. 

“Dinner,” she says, catching my eye. 

“Looks delicious.” 

We’re forced to drink from the same bottle. The act feels more intimate than it should, but save from drinking from our hands, it’s the only way to consume the beer. 

“Why did you bring me here?” It’s such an enjoyable evening and I hate to ruin it with my question. But I want to know.

“To get you away from the rabble of the train for a bit. Not that this place is any less noisy.”

“No it’s not,” I say, nodding my head. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“What would you do if you weren’t part of the Brotherhood? Who would you be if you weren’t an assassin?”

Evie reclines until she’s on her back with her hands laced behind her and her legs cross at the ankles. I lie next to her and stare at the bridge’s brickwork. “I’m not sure honestly. Maybe a historian or literature scholar or some other type of academic. Maybe a wife and homemaker.”

“Is that what you desire? A husband and children?”

“I’ve given little thought to those desires.” She blushes. 

“No one’s caught your eye?”

“Uh….perhaps. Though it remains to be seen if I’ve caught theirs as well.”

She looks at me expectedly, but I’m not sure what to say. Plucking at the grass to expend some sudden burst of nervousness, I think and think and think. I’m not good with this sentimental stuff, unless it’s Essie who pulls it out of me so easily. 

“You’re beautiful Evie,” I say, screaming internally even though I’m just stating a fact. “Whoever this person is will surely see that.”

“Th-thank you. You’re too kind.”

I groan and dig my palms into my eyes. “Oh I’ve made it awkward. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Like I said, you’re kind. Sweet. I admire that.” She giggles and rolls to her side. Though I’m still embarrassed, reluctantly I face her. “What about you? Do you wish for a family of your own? You and Essie are close.” 

“We’re simply friends.”

“You sound disappointed.”

I shake my head. “Maybe at one point. But she’s one of my closest friends.”

“Are you looking for a closer companion then?”

“I think so. It’d be nice, don’t you think? Having someone always there. Someone to love and care for. My parents were deeply in love. Our home was always warm. I want that for myself.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“What about your home?”

“It was….” She clicks her tongue. “Inconsistent. After our mother died, Jacob and I lived with our grandparents. One day, Father showed up and took us in to begin our training. He was firm. Maybe even mean. The training was intense, but we managed as best we could.” 

She looks in my direction, but doesn’t see me. Instead she’s reliving those memories from long ago. I can imagine what life was like for her, leaping from childhood into the assassin’s life. As much as my parents nurtured and cared for me, they still struck me hard during our sessions, doing their part to forge me into the cold, deadly assassin that they wanted me to become. 

Evie clears her throat before continuing. “Father always said ‘never put personal feelings ahead of the mission.’ He loved us. But it’s clear we were another mission to him. He was dedicated to the Creed and its survival.”

“I’m truly sorry.”

“Thank you. I adored Father. Jacob did too, in his own stubborn way. He made us the assassins we are today.”

“But what was he like without the cloak on?”

“Distant,” she whispers. I lean over and wipe at the unshed tears in her eyes and for a second, she forgets herself and nuzzles into my palm. “He saw Mother in us. She died in childbirth and he never recovered.”

“It’s hard healing from something like that.”

She looks at me. “I know.” 

“Still, I’m sorry he was like that with you. As much as we mourn those that we’ve lost, I’m learning that it’s important to lean onto those that are still with us. Remind them of their importance. It’s a new lesson, but an important one for certain.” 

Instead of responding, she settles on her back once more. I rise, sit cross-legged and watch the sunset over the rippling Thames. A breeze carries the scent of fresh baked breads and I tune back in to the sounds on the bridge over us. I look around, take in the bridge’s width and height. 

“You could fit a home under here,” I say. 

“It is spacious.”

“I would build a cottage under here.”

“May I come visit?”

I nod and glance over my shoulder, my heart doing some strange flip at her smile. “You’d have a room of your own to retire to whenever you’d like. And a massive library filled with whatever literary work you desired.”

“I’d never want to leave.”

I rub the back of my neck. “I don’t want to leave. I wish we could stay here.”

Her hand presses against the small of my back. I’m so adjusted to her light touches I don’t jump or flinch away. “I’m scared too, you know?”

“Are you saying that to make me feel better or because it’s true?” I ask. 

“Both, if I’m honest.” She rises and sits next to me. Her hand slides up my spine to my shoulder, which she squeezes. “I’ve only been to the one vault and it was easy maneuvering inside. Starrick reached it first with Jacob on his heels. I pulled up the rear and when I arrived, the only threat was Starrick. I don’t know what awaits us tomorrow and I know how treacherous an Isu vault is. It’s only because I trust you that I can admit to feeling nervous.”

“I’m glad I’ll be there with you.”

“Me too. But Genevieve don’t….”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t push myself.” I look down at my palms and my interlaced fingers. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not.” I should explain further. Tell her that I’m not embarrassed. Just afraid to confront my weakness in the face of another Isu vault. But it’s a pleasant evening and the sun is halfway below the horizon, the orange semi circle reflected on Thames’ surface. Evie looks at me, waiting to see if I’ll speak again. When I remain silent, she leans her head against my shoulder and without much thought, I press my cheek into the top of her head. Her hand falls from my shoulder, down to the grass to help her stay balanced. We can’t stay here forever. But….

“Can we stay for a bit longer? Until the sun finishes setting?” I ask. 

“I’d like that very much.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt guilty for not uploading for a while, so here's an extra chapter!

Evie indulges me until the first stars appear in the sky. We pull away, both of us sighing as we climb from under the bridge and back to the main road. Catching a carriage to the train station, we arrive just as Bertha pulls into the terminal. Exhausted from the day and in need of rest before tomorrow, we make a beeline for her cabin, pausing once to note that Jacob or Henry are nowhere to be seen. 

“Likely patrolling the streets,” Evie explains. 

My trunk is there at the foot of her bed and the thought of fresh clothes prompts me to peel off my shirt with little thought. 

“I-I-I’ll g-give you some pr-privacy,” Evie says. My shirt is off and I stand there in my underwear, my face slightly warm which I blame on the exertion of pulling my shirt off and the small fire in her hearth. 

“Ah sorry. I’m used to undressing in front of Essie.”  _ Or having her strip my clothes off _ . I should hold my shirt up to my chest, but the thought of being modest doesn’t cross my mind. And Evie’s staring at me, her green eyes fixated on my exposed skin. There’s even a hint of admiration buried under everything else. 

The moment stretches into a stillness as if time has paused in the cabin. Evie’s eyes bounce from the muscles in my arms, to the planes of my stomach, threatening to dip lower before she catches herself and her eyes snap up to look into mine. And I’m intrigued by what’s happening, unsure of what to make of her silence. How should I respond? Does this warrant a response? Or should I let it pass as if it never happened?

“Y-you’ve kept up with the Brotherhood’s training,” she says.

Ah, her curiosity makes sense now. Many women are dainty, slender and pristine. I’m none of those things. Though my clothes hide just how muscular I truly am. 

Squatting in front of the trunk to pull out a new shirt and hide my odd disappointment, I think of a response. “In some ways. And I’ve mostly worked in factories once I left America.” I wince, thinking about my job here in London that’s likely no longer mine. “Factory bosses were surprised that I could do many of the same jobs as the men they typically hired.” 

“That makes sense.” Her voice is further away and partially muffled. I can tell she’s around the corner again, changing out of any view I may potentially have. I use the opportunity to pull off my trousers, selecting cotton pants to cover my legs. My parents’ journal sits on the fireplace’s mantle and I grab it. I still don’t feel ready to read through it. But tips on navigating a vault could be buried inside and if it can help me keep Evie safe, then it’s worth it. 

I settle on my side of the bed and Evie rounds the corner moments later, dressed in a nightgown that stops just past her knees. She sits at her desk and pulls the pins from her hair. 

“I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable,” I say to her back. 

Evie stiffens and just as quickly relaxes. “You didn’t. I’m just unfamiliar with undressing before another.”

“Or having another undress before you.”

Her fingers still and her voice grows quieter. “Yes.” 

I hate how heavy the air feels as we inch closer to a topic that Evie’s clearly nervous to breach. “Well don’t feel terrible,” I say. “I’m not a very good model of how a ‘woman’ should act.”

The heaviness is swept away by her pearls of laughter. “I believe we’re both far removed from most ‘womanly traits and virtues.’”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Those rules and corsets are restraints I don’t wish to experience.” 

“Good call,” she says, rising from her desk. Once again her brown hair drapes over her shoulders and I want to know how smooth and soft it is. “I had the misfortune of wearing a corset recently. I believe I’m still recovering from the bruises that contraption left behind. Far worse than any punch I’ve ever experienced.” She hesitates for a moment, searching her cabin for something else to do before climbing in bed next to me. But when she spots nothing out of place or to do, she sits on the edge, swings her legs onto the mattress and pulls the covers up to her chin. 

“Lucky for you, I think we will avoid corsets for this mission,” I say.

“Thanks goodness!” We both chuckle and as it dies down, she looks at the journal in my hands. I expect her to remind me not to push myself too hard or to leave it if I’m not ready. I won’t tire of her concern for me, but I hate that she’s constantly worrying. When her hand lands on my wrist, I prepare myself. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

I’m at a loss for words, my brain scrambling to catch up with this change in direction. “I won’t. I promise.”

She rolls onto her side and in just a few minutes is fast asleep, snoring slightly. I watch her for a moment, smiling to myself before tucking into the pillows and cracking open the journal. 

My parents kept detailed records of their adventures, observations and thoughts for as long as I can remember. Memories of starry nights spent in front of a campfire fill my mind, the moments sharp and clear I can almost feel the smoky heat on my face and arms. Mother and father sip from a sheepskin filled with some spirit. Wine, I believe. Their heads are pressed together, their voices soft as they whisper to each other, pointing to the pages of their journal and scribbling in it. 

Tonight is my first time I’ve ever dared to peek at their words. 

The journal starts with a letter addressed to me. Tears spring to the corners of my eyes which I’m quick to wipe away. 

_ To our light-footed shadow, _

_ There are many ways this journal fell into your lap. I pray it was a gift. That on our peaceful deathbeds, we were able to pass this into your hands, secure in the knowledge that you are ready for its secrets. There is also a chance you nicked this from us without our knowledge. Or so we led you to think. You were always heavy handed. If that is the case, be sure to return it to our study so we may complete this volume before properly handing it off.  _

_ But there is another explanation on why you’re now reading this. We have met an unfortunate end, a high probability in our profession. If that is true, then we are sorry Genevieve. As your mentors in the way of our Creed, we train you for many things. Alas, our teachings fail to prepare you for our deaths, for you to live in this world without us at your side. Please know that we do not intend to leave you so soon. But we cannot control our fates.  _

_ No matter how you come upon this journal, it is yours to use as you see fit. Read it from cover to cover. Abandon it on a shelf in your home. Pass it on your children. Burn it if you want. Our teachings, musings and illustrations are yours.  _

_ It is not easy being born into our Creed. It demands so much with little in return. We are the shadows that work to keep this world safe. We are privy to information that’s been left undisturbed for countless generations. We are the silenced blade that eliminates threats to people’s freedom and autonomy. We are assassins.  _

_ But we are also your parents and wish to see you thrive. Become the young woman, the leader, the hero of our dreams. We are and forever will be proud of who you become. We are fortunate to have given birth to you. We are honored to be your parents.  _

_ Genevieve please do not think us cruel for how we parted. Please know that our hearts merged together to create you. You will always carry us with you. _

_ With love that fuels our fight, _

_ Flora & Philip Rainforth _

I’m sobbing quietly, my body shaking from the effort it takes to not cry out loud. I don’t want to wake Evie. I desire her comfort, yet I want this moment to myself. My tears dot the page, landing on top of the black ink they used to write the letter. I stare at the paragraphs, run my fingers across the page delicately, afraid that too much pressure will smear their words or clear the page. I feel both warmth at their words and a sinking coolness that this journal was prematurely given to me just as they feared. 

I shut it, press it close to my chest as if the words could slip from the page and stamp themselves onto my heart. 

_ With love that fuels our fight _ . 

I have never heard those words before, but it seems fitting that it comes from them. They loved me so dearly, just as I love them still. And if it is fuel, then I will harness it and use it for this mission. They said they’re proud of me, but I want to give them a reason to feel such pride. 

Evie groans and stirs. I freeze, worried that somehow I managed to rouse her. She rolls onto her stomach, stays in that position for a second before turning onto her side. Tonight, we both start near the middle of the bed, instead of our respective corners. And with her head turned towards me, I feel the puff of air she exhales. 

I push hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Evie Frye is every bit the assassin I would have become had I stayed on the path. If I want to make my parents proud, I will start by committing myself to her safety. From tonight until she no longer needs or wants me. That is my promise to my parents and Evie herself. 

It’s late. The clock on the mantle reads ten minutes until ten. Tomorrow will be a long day with an early start. I lean over, mindful not to bump into Evie and set the journal on her small nightstand, before sliding under the covers. As if aware that I’m settling for bed, Evie nestles closer and her hand rests on my stomach, her fingers clinging to my top. She claims my arm as a second pillow, placing her head near the crook of my elbow. Her sleepy smile is self-congratulatory, satisfied with herself. 

“Evie, I find you absolutely delightful,” I whisper, smiling to myself. 

But I don’t want a numb arm in the morning, so I move closer, maneuver us until her head is under my chin. Her hand winds itself over my waist, to my back, her fingers once again digging into the fabric of my shirt. This embrace is one I’ve shared with Essie many, many, many nights before and I feel sleepy in seconds. 

Before drifting off, I tell myself to feign sleep in the morning should I wake before Evie. Save us any embarrassment that may come from how close our bodies are pressed together.

* * *

It’s the feel of blunted nails digging into the small exposed patch of skin on my back that wakes me. The sensation draws a moan from me, uprooted from the back of my throat. The nails dig in again and I moan once more, arching into it. Slowly, I grow more alert, my brain departing its state of rest. Evie is still in my arms, her nails the one pressing into me. I chance a peek, relieved that she’s sleeping. Her hand falls away as I twist to look at the window. Rain hit the glass panes, a light fog obscuring my view of London. I try not to see this as a bad omen of what’s to come today. 

It’s tempting to fall back asleep, even if it’s only for a few more minutes. But I must steel myself for the day ahead and the vault that awaits our arrival. 

Extracting myself from Evie is a feat that borders on a miracle, but I manage to press myself against the cabin’s wall and climb over her and off the bed. I stand, stretch my muscles and select clothes. I pull out black trousers, long cotton socks and a button down shirt with a round collar. At the last moment, I decide to add a dark vest. 

“Good morning Genevieve.” I glance up, catch Evie’s green eyes that are soft and still riddled with sleep. A smile slowly stretches across my face. “Please tell me you actually got some rest.” 

I bite back my initial ‘didn’t you feel me asleep in your arms’ and think of a better response. “I did. Drifted off not long after you,” I say. 

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She rises and disappears to dress for the day. I try not to stare when she comes back into view. But her outfit is beautiful and powerful, akin to a guard’s outfit. Her gray pants are a shade lighter than the sky outside. Only the open flaps of her white shirt are visible, the rest hidden behind the blue and red crimson vest she wears, with a black leather belt cinched around her waist. I need to look away before she catches me. But I can’t. I can’t stop looking at Evie because for the first time I truly see how breathtaking she is and I understand why my heart pounds in my chest when I’m near her. Why I’m so addicted to the sight of her smile. Why I’m filled with anticipation anytime we touch. 

I’m struck by the best realization at the worst time. 

I’m attracted to Evie. 

I desire her on some level that’s deeper than friendship. 

Fuck!

“What is it?” She gives me a curious look. One hand holds her brown locks up and away from her face, while the other grips several pins. 

I blink and shake myself from this sudden stupor. “Nothing. I was lost in thought.”

“Genevieve.”

I smile, thankful that for once I can use her concern to my advantage. “It’s just nervous. I’m fine, I swear. I’ll be in the next car.”

She eyes me carefully. “I’ll join you in a minute.” She touches my arm as I pass and it sends shocks throughout my body. It feels delightful. But this is bad. I’ll be distracted. My concern for her safety increased nearly tenfold. 

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth as I jump to the next car. Jacob springs up from his sofa, runs a hand down his face before looking at me. “Mornin’. Sleep well?”

I nod. “And you?” 

“Like a newborn babe. You and Evie are off to the vault today, right?”

“Yeah. Leaving just as soon as she’s done getting ready.”

He hums and reclines on the sofa again. I notice the marks on his neck have disappeared. He catches me staring. “My uh partner and I are trying to be more discreet.”

“Afraid your sister may judge?”

Jacob shakes his head. “No. It’s still new. We’re trying to figure things out and I don’t want to give Evie any reason to hope this will be serious if it turns out to be just a one off thing.”

His shy smile tells me he wants it to not be more than a quick affair. “I hope it works out for you, no matter which side the coin lands on.”

“Thank you,” he says. He runs his hands through his shaggy hair and groans as he stretches. “What about you and my sister?”

“What?”

“You two are awfully chummy.” 

I roll my eyes at his smirk, pray that I’m not visibly too distressed at his words. I can’t risk Evie finding out. Not yet. “We’re friends.”

“She has a softness for you,” he says, growing serious. “Evie keeps her emotions pressed close to her. Father was always leery of emotions and sentimentality. Forced that crap into our brains and Evie ate it up. Until this mission. Now it seems as if her feelings are the driving force behind her actions.”

I’m not sure what to make of that. It’s true we bonded together quickly, despite our beginning. It wasn’t a latching on, but a gentle melding. Now that I think deeper on it, it makes sense it would all lead to my attraction towards her. 

“Tell me, how do you feel about Evie?” he asks.

“I….”

The cabin’s door opens and Evie, dressed in black coat with a brown checked cloak attached to the shoulder, enters. “Jacob, good morning. Easy patrol?”

“All was quiet throughout London dear sister. Though Greenie’s sources indicate the replacement may be here within two or three days.”

“Any leads on who it may be?”

“Some,” Jacob says. “Though it can wait until you two return from the vault. If we’re lucky Excalibur is down there and we can put this behind us quickly.” He smiles, but it lacks the confidence he tries to project. Evie looks down at her feet and I see her shoulder rise and fall from a long sigh. When she looks up again, there’s a serious edge in her green eyes and she stands taller, her shoulders squared back, her chest puffed out. The sight is arousing and I turn away, not wanting the image to burn too deeply in my mind. 

“Ready?”

“Yes,” I say. 

Jacob wishes us luck and promises to greet us upon our return. I follow Evie as we pass through the train until we reach the last car. She stops in front of a counter that’s littered with scraps of parchment, opened boxes of ammo and ingredients for elixirs and poisons. Evie peels back a cloth, revealing a long, slender blade attached to a hilt with a thick strip of black leather wrapped around it. The leather harness is to the side and she sheaths the blade and turns towards me. 

“I can’t let you walk in there with no weapon. This is my gift to you.”

The kukri is thin, but still carries a weight to it thanks to the heavy hilt. “Thank you. I hope we can avoid using it.”

“Me too,” she says. “But I’d rather be safe than not.”

I slip the harness around my hip, keeping the weapon in its sheath and try not to rest my arm on the kukri’s hilt. Evie giggles softly, her eyes lighting up in amusement. “You’re almost like one of those romantic knights.”

I bow slightly. “My lady.” She laughs again and I don’t know if it’s the levity of that sound, the silliness of this playful ruse or my newly realized attraction to her that causes me to grasp her hand. Time moves too quickly and too slowly as I bring the back of her hand up to my face and place a chaste kiss to it, tasting the steel and leather of her gauntlet. She gasps and my face burns from embarrassment and arousal. “At your service.” 

Evie shocks me further when she brings her hand to my cheek, caressing it lightly. I swallow back the stone in my throat as we lock eyes. Her smile is soft and I try to avoid looking at the curves of her lips. “Your charm and chivalry has been noted. Stick close to me, my dear knight.” She turns away then, her hand falling from my face and immediately I miss the warmth. 

I trail her off the train and onto the busy street. She takes us to a stable that houses the Rooks’ carriages and horses. She speaks to the stablehand, placing several coins in his hand which he pockets with a simple nod. He disappears towards the back and Evie comes to stand next to me. She leans over, her shoulder bumping against mine. 

“Can you ride a horse?” she whispers

“Been a few years, but it’ll come back to me.”

“Good because I’m absolutely shite at it.”

The stablehand returns with a chestnut mare that flicks its black mane in the air. The horse is fully tacked, the side saddlebags filled with supplies for the road. He hands the reins to me. “She’ll carry you far.”

“Thank you. We greatly appreciate it,” Evie says. I climb into the saddle, reach an arm down to pull Evie up behind me. I tell myself to focus on something other than her hands on my waist. “We’ll return by nightfall,” she says. 

“There’s equipment there in case you need an extra day.”

“Thank you.”

I lead us out the stable, onto the road, guiding the horse through the various turns until we’re making our way out of the city. Once we hit the city’s borders, I dig my heels into the horse’s side. Evie’s hands tighten on me, but she voices no complaint as we gallop on the path, with London at our backs and the vault on the horizon. 


	16. Chapter 16

Isu vaults are a peculiar part of this world. Built down into the earth, their entrances are so well hidden that even assassins can miss them if they’re not careful. The insides of the vaults are treacherous, winding mazes meant to confuse any who accidentally stumble in. And the technology at its center is indescribable. Even after all these years of searching for their artefacts and hiding them in their own reservoirs, assassins cannot fathom how the artefacts work or how best to destroy them. 

On the surface, the vault Evie and I intend to explore is unassuming. An old stone tower built centuries ago sits on top of the vault’s actual entrance. Staring at it, the tower seems like a simple hurdle to overcome. But I refuse to accept the false sense of security the sight drums up within me. My blood pounds in my ear, so loud I barely hear Evie come to stand next to me. 

It took little over an hour to reach the vault. Our ride was silent, save for the occasional direction from Evie. We both sat with our own thoughts during the trek. When we spotted the edge of grey peaking over the treetops, I pulled on the horse’s reins until it walked down the path. Evie’s hand flexed on my waist, her warm breaths blowing on a damp part of my neck. We shared a look when we climbed out the saddle, her eyes calm and reassuring, while mine held apprehension and fear.

We’re off the main road, hidden behind layers and layers of brush and low hanging tree branches and leaves. The mare’s reins are wrapped around one such branch and her long tail swishes in the air as she nibbles on a patch of grass. Evie holds a piece of jerky up to my face and I accept it, chewing slowly as she speaks. 

“Are you sure you want to go in?” she asks.

I finger the kukri’s hilt and stare at the tower we’re soon going to climb. “I’d feel better being by your side.”

“Alright. Do you feel comfortable climbing?”

“If not, will you carry me up?”

She grins. “If I must.”

I finish off the jerky strip and smile. “I can manage. I’m pretty capable.” 

“I have no doubt of that. Come on.” 

I position myself below her and just to the side as we climb up the tower’s wall. Our gap in experience is on display as she scales with ease, lunging and jumping from stone to stone as if this is second nature to her, while I huff and sweat and second guess myself all the way to the top. Evie pauses every so often to check on me and I always meet her gaze with a wide grin, despite my shaky muscles that burn and ache. At the top, she passes a small canteen to me and I take hearty sips before giving it back to her. I frown as she pockets it without taking a sip of her own. Yeah, I’ll need some extra training if I want to keep up with her. 

Evie crouches and stares down, but there’s only an inky darkness that’s disrupted by patches of sunlight that comes in from the gaps in the stonework. 

“Ready?” she asks, leaning forward slightly to prepare herself for our descent. I nod and watch as she sinks below the wall and climbs down. I follow after, stifling my groans and pray for an easier exit should we make it out alive. I can’t help my sigh as we touch down on solid ground once more. Gripping the kukri’s hilt for strength, I watch as Evie searches the walls for a way in. I scan the stone, focusing on slowing my breath and soothing my nerves. Then I see it. A glint beyond a crack in the wall. 

“Evie,” I call, pointing to the crack. It’s just wide enough for us to squeeze through. I go first, with Evie on my heels. Metal braziers are planted on the wall and Evie produces a flint kit which she uses to strike a light. Searching the ground, I find a large, broken piece of wood and wrap a length of cloth around it that Evie hands over. I’m thankful for the torch and the light it provides, though it looks like nothing is ahead but impenetrable darkness. A chill works down my spine. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” I say. “Just memories from years ago.”

She hesitates for a moment, before speaking again. “Do you want to talk about it?” We start down the corridor, moving slowly to avoid traps or flimsy flooring that would give way from the slightest bit of pressure. 

“My parents believed field experience was the best way to mold me into a proper assassin,” I whisper. “No amount of training and sparring could make up for being out on missions, according to them. There are a few dormant vaults in the Americas. Ones explored long ago by previous brothers.” 

The corridor makes a sharp left. I wipe my palms on the back of my legs and continue with my story. “If their missions were relatively safe, my parents would take me with me. I was the lookout and would watch as they carried out their duties. During the rare ‘freetime’ we’d travel to a vault and explore, trying to reach the center chamber.”

Off to our right is a small room. We step inside, swatting at the cobwebs and clouds of dust in the air. Our search for any treasure or clues is quick. We can scan the entirety of the room without needing to leave the doorway. But Evie ventures in and I follow to provide her some light to see. Her search turns up nothing except rotten fruit and petrified wood. We head down the main corridor once again. Evie stays quiet, expecting me to continue. My heart warms at her consideration. 

“As I grew more comfortable with my skills, I played a more active role in the missions. Simple infiltration and retrieval. Or trail some unwitting target. My blade stayed hidden, never once being used to assassinate someone.”

“Why?” she asks softly. 

“I’m not sure,” I answer. “I think they wanted to work me up to assassinations.”

The next chamber is off to our left and this time our search yields some success. Evie pockets pieces of gold and an ancient leather bracer which she gifts to me. I slip it on my forearm, tightening the straps by pulling on it with my teeth. 

“How old were you when you made your first kill?” I ask.

“Sixteen,” she says quietly. Even without looking at her, I can feel her crestfallen expression, her gaze that focuses down on her feet.

“You don’t have--”

But she shakes her head. “It’s fine. I don’t mind telling you. There was a doctor in the town over. He was giving out poisoned medicine and withheld the antidote from people unless they paid a premium charge. Most couldn’t cover it and were left with no other than to suffer and die. One of my sources, a friend really, fell prey to his scheme.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She still lives, thankfully. I procured the antidote from his workshop before she grew too gravely ill.” She exhales. “The kill wasn’t authorized by the Brotherhood. But….but I couldn’t stand by and watch more people suffer. I had the blade and so no harm in using it.”

I feel the anger pouring out of her. Pausing in the corridor, I turn and face her. “Do you regret it?”

She stares me in the eye. “No.”

“Good,” I say with a smile. I start to get lost in the galaxy of freckles on her face, but catch myself and spin on my heel to continue our search. If Evie thought the moment was odd, she kept it to herself. 

“Have you ever killed anyone?”

“I’ve come close to it,” I whisper. “But no.” 

“Is it a line you don’t wish to cross?”

“It’s a line I hope I never have to encounter.”

We continue our exploration in silence after that. There are more stories I can tell, but the freshly uprooted memories sit heavy on my tongue and chest, squeezing at my heart and forcing out tears that I’m quick to wipe away. The bit that I shared with Evie dredged up memories of when I tagged along on my parents’ missions. Cold nights spent around a campfire with the stars blanketing us. Gray mornings when we hastily ate our porridge and bacon before setting off. I had my own tent, but mother and father always welcomed me in their bedrolls when I was afraid of the quiet dark. I can hear our exhales and my groans from our sparring in the backyard, can almost feel the rush of air on my back as my father lifts me and tosses me down hard on the dirt beneath our feet. My muscles twitch as if struck by the impact. 

Then there were our excursions to those dormant vaults. My parents went ahead of me, disabling any lingering traps and defeating any creature that may dwell inside. They had a fifteen or twenty minute headstart and I always paced outside, silently counting down until it was time for me to dart in. Sometimes they’d hide in the shadows, test my senses or my response to a surprise attack. But most times, they sat on a slab of rock within the central chamber with wide grins and sweaty brows, waiting to congratulate me on reaching the end. 

Exploring this vault now, I wonder how they would greet me once I step foot in the innermost room.

The main corridor splits into a crossroads and we decide to take the western wing, which leads to a deadend. Returning to the crossroads, we head east and after a few minutes of walking reach a massive, circular chamber. We pause in the stone archway, look up towards the ceiling that’s out of view. I wave the torch in the air, but the light only extends a few feet ahead of us, not enough to illuminate the room. 

But it looks like the central chamber. If Excalibur is within this vault, it would be in this room. 

I’m filled with anticipation. It would be a relief to end this mission now. Return to my old life and forget the Brotherhood. I would find a way to stick close to Evie though. I don’t want to leave her yet. 

Lost in my thoughts of an early end to this mission, I step further inside the chamber. 

_ *Crack* _

“Genev--”

But the rest of Evie’s words are drowned out as the floor splinters and breaks, giving out under me. Wind rushes in my ear, my stomach lurches and rises up to my chest as I plummet. I’m sure I’ll meet my death soon. I’m convinced the ground below, if it even exists, is miles below and when I meet it, my neck will snap, cutting off my remaining breaths. I’m afraid. 

But if I die, then I’ll reunite with my parents. 

The ground isn’t miles away and I hit it sooner than I anticipated. The force knocks the wind out of me. Pain bursts and spreads from my shoulder down my arm and congregates in my hand. Rocks dig into the back of my legs and back. It feels like being prodded with a hot iron. I feel water underneath me, soaking the underside of my clothes and it’s soothing on my blistering skin. Stray pieces of debris fall and I roll to my side, shielding my head with my hands. 

All I can feel is pain. I taste it in my mouth. My vision is hazy and dark. I hear nothing but my heart pounding in my ears. This is the closest to death I’ve felt in a while.

I lay there, fighting to catch my breath and slow my racing heart. Acid burns my throat and I taste something coppery and foul when I manage to swallow. Groaning, I pull myself into a seated position and slowly look up to the hole that I fell through. A face peers down at me. 

“Evie?”

Slowly, her voice penetrates the thumping in my ear. She’s calling my name, the shouts broken and hoarse as her hysteria worsens. 

“Genevieve! Genevieve? Please answer me. Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I’m alive.” I’m in too much pain to tell her that I’m okay. But at least I’m still breathing. “Is the sword up there?”

“I don’t care about the sword right now!” I flinch at her harsh tone and immediately wince from another spout of pain. “Can you climb up? Should I come down?”

Thankfully the torch still burns, providing some light. It rolled away from me during the fall, landing on a dry patch of ground. I’m in no shape to climb right now. I doubt I can maintain a grip on anything. But the walls are made of a craggy rock that reach up to the hole. Easily climbable, which Evie must figure out.

“I’m coming down!” Evie calls when I don’t respond. 

“Be careful.”

Watching Evie scale down, I see that I didn’t fall very far. No more than forty or fifty feet by my guess. Landing on my side helped tremendously. My shoulder and waist are surely bruised and starting to swell, but nothing feels broken. 

I’m still trying to catch my breath when Evie touches down and rushes to me. 

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” I say. But she frets over me, first inspecting my face then my body. “I’m not bleeding and nothing is broken.”

“You scared me.” Her voice cracks and I realize tears run down her face. Her hands shake as she continues her inspection. My heart aches at this and I’m mildly surprised. Though if this were reversed, had she fallen while I was frozen in fear, I’m sure I'd be on the verge of a breakdown. 

“Hey,” I call softly. She looks at me, her bottom lip trembling, her eyes wide and watery. I bring our foreheads together, try not to read too deeply into the small gasp she releases. “I’m alright. I promise.”

She nods against me, pressing our heads closer together. “Okay.” I can smell the jerky on her breath and the tea from this morning. If we weren’t in the vault’s underworld, if the stars were out and the moon was calm and full, I’d have the courage to press my lips to hers. I know they’re soft and I’d love to know how she kisses. If it’s languid and curious or frantic and brimming with lust. 

But it would be inappropriate to kiss her when she’s in such a vulnerable state and when I’m still in so much pain. 

Our forehead touch is enough for now. 

We both take calming breaths. Evie’s the first to pull back. 

“The torch’s over there,” I say, pointing to the right. While she retrieves it, I sit higher and brace myself before rolling to my side and sitting on my knees. I sweat from the effort, a searing heat pulsing throughout my body. I press my hands against the craggy walls, use it as leverage as I stand. I wince and groan the entire time, but manage to get on my feet, though my stance is unsteady. Evie rushes back to my side, sliding a strong arm around my waist. 

“Are you sure you can walk?”

“Yeah,” I say through gritted teeth. “Besides, we have no other choice if we want to get out.”

We both look at the hole, but it’s clear I won’t make it back up there. Evie looks behind us, then in front, concentrating. “We can leave this way,” she says, already leading us away.

“The sword?” I ask, though I know the answer. 

“I didn’t get a chance to look, but I don’t think it’s there.”

We would have felt it’s pull. Swords beckon their new wielders to them, emitting a burst of magic that tempts any and all in a close range. Excalibur, and other weapons like it, are surrounded by a warm, charming aura that extends to the person who uses it in battle. It’s how King Arthur convinced so many to follow his rule. I felt nothing of that nature in the room. 

“I’m really sorry Genevieve,” Evie says. “I know you wanted this to end quickly.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “We have other leads to pursue.”

We head in the direction Evie indicted, walking next to the small stream. The further we go, the more I feel my strength returning and reluctantly, I lean away from Evie before eventually separating all together. I feel her glancing at me, gauging to see if I’ll need her support again. But I manage on my own. She’s stopped crying which makes me feel better. Though I hear the odd sniffle over the trickle of water.

Gradually, the cave opens up wider and wider, though only a few inches separate Evie and I. There’s light ahead and I sigh, ready to escape this vault and sink into bed. We’ll have to start over again. But I can save that worry for tomorrow. 

We emerge at the bottom of a hill and over the tops of the trees we can see the stone tower where we originally entered. The sun sits low in the sky, the dredges of midday giving way to early evening. There is a slight chill in the air, but nothing too menacing. It feels good on my still warm skin. We trek to our horse and by the time we reach her, I’m winded and sweating again. Exhausted, really.

“I don’t think I can get us back to London,” I admit. 

“I’ll get us there.”

Before departing, Evie makes me eat slices of cured ham and wash it down with water from a spare canteen. My strength is completely depleted after climbing into the saddle. When Evie settles behind me, I nearly fall into her arms and rest against her chest. 

“It’s alright,” she whispers close to my ear. “You can rest.”

Holding the reins with one hand, she slides her other arm around my waist and kicks her heels in the mare’s side. I try to stay awake, but I’m exhausted from everything and just a few minutes into our journey, I’m on the edge of sleep. 

“I thought you said you’re terrible at riding?” I say. 

Her body shakes from a chuckle. “I am,” she admits. If she says anything else, I don’t hear it as I fall asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the kudos/comments/support. I didn't think anyone would read this fic, so it makes me happy whenever I receive a new comment or some kudos. I had a short break from work last week and managed to write a few chapters for this story and somewhere in there is a first kiss :) so stay tuned for that! Until then, take care and stay safe!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day because I'm feeling very generous and because this chapter is pretty short! Enjoy! 
> 
> Also I'm not a doctor or medical expert, so if Genevieve's medical diagnosis sounds unlikely or false, I'm sorry.

When I come to, I’m tucked into Evie’s bed. I don’t feel her resting behind me or moving about in the car. I try to sit up, but am stopped by a pain that seizes my muscles and locks my joints. I collapse back onto the mattress, sucking in air and shut my eyes as I wait for this to pass. The cabin’s door opens and for a brief second I hear the chatter of the train station and the slow screeching of the train’s wheels halting on the track. 

“Evie?”

“Afraid not,” a familiar voice calls. Henry rounds the corner, smiling though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “She’s out procuring some supplies for Nurse Nightingale. Jacob should be back with the nurse monetarily. I’m on monitoring duty until they return.”

“How long have I been out?”

He rushes over when he sees I’m attempting to sit up. Cupping my elbow and placing a steady hand on the back of my shoulder, he pulls me up as gently as possible. Though the exertion is a bit too much and I shut my eyes, exhaling. “A couple of hours I believe. Evie said you slept the entire ride back to London and didn’t wake when you arrived at the stables. She and some other Rooks had to load you into a carriage and onto the train. She’s understandably worried.”

I chew on my bottom lip, guilt filling me as I imagine all she went through to get me back here. My side and back feel as if it’s on fire. When he presses a damp cloth to my forehead and it feels like cold water compared to the rest of my body. 

“Did she tell you about the vault?”

Henry spins the armchair around to face the bed. “Briefly. I’m sorry the sword wasn’t there.”

“I guess I was a fool for hoping for an easy victory.”

“Not a fool, no. Besides, it’s not a complete waste. We know the sword isn’t there. It narrows down our list.”

“What of Starrick’s replacement?”

Henry purses his lips and glances away. “He’s arrived in London.”

“What? When?! What are we--”

The door opens again and this time Jacob enters with Nurse Nightingale on his arm. He grins at us, his green eyes shining bright when he sees I’m awake. 

“As promised, here’s the good nurse! Can you mend our friend here?”

Nurse Nightingale sits on the edge of the bed, setting her travel bag between us. She gives me a stern look, the corners of her lips turned down in a small frown. “I heard you had an accident.”

“A fall ma’am. Several feet.”

“Anything feel broken?”

“No.”

“Sprained?”

“Possibly. I’m not sure.”

She looks at the two men. “We’ll need some privacy for a bit. I’ll retrieve you when we’re done.”

Jacob and Henry shuffle out then. When we’re alone, Nurse Nightingale instructs me to remove my clothes and sit on the edge of the bed. If she’s shocked by the state I’m in, she doesn’t show it. 

“Any pain?” she asks. 

“It comes and goes in intense spasms.”

“Hm. Very shallow cuts. They’ll heal in a few days.” 

Bruising is already forming on my body, a nasty spot that looks violet on my dark skin. It sits on my hip, wraps around to my stomach ending just on the other side of my navel. If I want a full view of the bruise, I would need to stand in a mirror. Though Evie doesn’t keep one inside her cabin. 

Nurse Nightingale hums to herself as she looks over me. She asks me to take deep breaths and listens to my heart. She tests to see how high I can raise my arm or how far I can extend my leg without wincing. She scribbles observations in a small notebook, but never lets me peek. The examination is done primarily in silence and lasts ten or fifteen minutes. 

“Mostly bruising,” she says once it’s over. “You’ll need plenty of bedrest, good food, water and I’ll give Miss Frye a recipe for a mild pain relieving tonic.” 

The door opens a third time. I smile as Evie enters. Her cheeks are red and her hair is in slight disarray from running across London’s rooftops. She sees me, her smile one of pure relief. But I’m dressing again and she goes even redder in the face before spinning around and making a break for the door. 

“I’ll let you two finish up,” she says in a rush. 

“No need. Besides we were just talking about you.” Nurse Nightingale stands at the desk and rips a page from her notebook. “Here. A recipe for a tonic that will help relieve her pain. The ingredients I asked for will be more than enough. Miss Tillman needs lots of rest and plenty of water. She’ll be fine in a few weeks. The swelling and bruising will go down in a few days I believe.”

“Thank you. But she slept through our entire journey back to the trip. Should we not be concerned?” Evie asks. She stands directly in front of the nurse, purposefully blocking her view of me. I try to dress in a hurry, but it’s hard with my body aching and rebelling against any sudden, jerky movements. 

“Likely an overstimulation to her senses after the fall. It happens after a serious accident. Her body was flooded with energy and once it was depleted, exhaustion set in. I’m mildly surprised she’s still not asleep.” 

I yawn, as if my body is aware of the nurse’s words. Fully dressed once more, I sit on the edge of the bed. “Thank you Nurse Nightingale. I have money to pay you, but my wallet’s not within reach.” 

“No need Miss Tillman,” she says, gathering her things. “Until next time.”

“I hope it’ll be under more pleasant circumstances,” I say. 

She nods with a small smile. “Be well Miss Frye and Miss Tillman.” 

Nurse Nightingale collects her bag and leaves the car. Evie looks at me, smiling shyly. She pockets the recipe. 

“I’ll find you some food. Then you can go to bed.”

I open my mouth to ask about the sword. We should continue our hunt, especially with Starrick’s replacement in London. Soon he would be on our trail, ready to seize Excalibur for himself and the Templars. 

But I’m exhausted and there’s a numbness throughout half my body. I feel the tingles of a violent, painful burst simmering under the numbness, ready to attack at an opportune moment. Rest will be good. Our hunt can wait for a new day. I hope. 

“Alright,” I say. “C-can you….can you keep me company?”

“Of course. I saw that Henry made sandwiches. That should be filling for us. I’ll return shortly.”

“Evie?”

“Yes?”

“You’re okay, right?” I ask.

She’s startled, a small jolt running through her at my question. But she quickly relaxes, the fear smoothing out on her face. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You were crying,” I say. “At the vault. After I fell. There were tears in your eyes. I….I just wanted to make sure you felt better.”

“Oh, um, I do. Feel better that is.” She rubs her arm. “Seeing you awake and alert makes me feel better. And Nurse Nightingale examined you, so I know you’ll be up and mobile soon. Besides….”

“Besides?”

“You were surprisingly calm down there. I was a mess and you….” She touches her forehead, keeping eye contact with me. I remember that moment too. How everything went quiet and calm. How I could hear nothing but our breaths warming our cheeks. “It was nice,” she says, simply. 

“It was,” I say, resisting the urge to rub my own forehead. 

Evie puts a foot behind her. “I’ll go get your food. I’ll be back in a moment.” She leaves without me saying anything. 

I wait, not so patiently, for her return. If I wasn’t injured, I’d walk the length of the cabin car. I don’t know what to do with my hands. I sit on the edge of the bed, twiddling my thumbs and fighting against thoughts of how close my face once was to Evie’s. God, I wish I could kiss her. I wish I could fall into her arms and let her hands rub soothing circles on my back. 

I feel ridiculous, desiring her when we’re on the hunt for such a dangerous and powerful weapon. But she captured me with those soft looks and shy smiles and warm touches and all I can think about is Evie Frye and how she means so much to me. 

I take a deep breath to collect myself. Evie returns then carrying Henry’s tray of food and sets it on the bed. She shrugs off her cloak and sits next to me. 

After our meal, Evie all but forces me to lie down and drink a warm cup of tea. It makes me sleepy almost instantly. She perches on the side of the bed. My fingers burn with the desire to touch her waist. 

“You’re not in any pain, are you?”

I shake my head, fighting against this sudden drowsiness. 

“Good,” she says. “I’ll sleep on the chair until you’ve recovered.”

“But I’ve gotten used to you sleeping next to me.” 

She blushes. “So have I. But it’s best to keep our distance so you can heal without interruption. I don’t want to inadvertently hurt you.”

“You said you’d never hurt me,” I argue. “Just the other night those were your words to me.” Drowsiness, much like alcohol, loosens my tongue and weakens my mental defenses. I’m begging and possibly pouting. But I don’t care. Because I’m greedy with my time with Evie. I like sleeping in her arms. I like feeling her slow breath against my neck and cheek. I like hearing her soft snores while I’m drifting off. 

She cups my face with her hands. Her gauntlets sit somewhere out of view and I feel her bare palms against my skin. “Genevieve, your recovery is important to me right now. I don’t want to jeopardize that.”

I move closer and bring our foreheads together. “I don’t like it.”

“Of course you don’t. But you’ll feel better in a few days and then we’ll go back to our normal.”

I huff.

She giggles, exhaling short, sweet puffs of air that tickles my cheek. She pulls back one of her hands, brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Strange how you’ve become so utterly important to me in a short span of time.”

A hum dies as a gasp in the back of my throat when I realize how close we are. Once again I find myself in her personal bubble, breathing the same air. We so easily maneuvered into this intimate embrace. And it’s clear neither of us want to break it. 

I make a mistake. I look at her lips. Smooth. Soft-looking. A pink tongue peeks out, runs along the top lip. It’s hard to look away, my mind consumed with thoughts of what it will feel like have our lips pressed together. I glance up, see that her green eyes are studying me with a shy curiosity. Her hands move, not to push me away, but to slide around my neck, cup the back of my head. 

I’m moving, tilting my head so our noses don’t bump together. I can hear my heart beating in my chest. One of my hands settles on her waist. 

“Genevieve,” she says, a longing sigh.

“Is it okay?”

I’m searching her face for a sign that she doesn’t want this. A flash of annoyance or hesitation. I’m waiting for her hands to appear on my shoulders before she shoves me away. I think she’ll jerk away, scowling down at me. 

But all I see is a pleased satisfaction like this is all she’s dreamed of for days. I see burning desire in those green eyes like she’s counted down the days until this, a kiss, finally happened. Evie doesn’t push me away. She draws me closer, so close that our lips are almost touching and our breaths mingle together. 

We’re so close. 

“Evie! Henry and I are going out on patrol for a bit.”

We both jump back at the sound of the cabin door’s opening and Jacob lets himself in. Evie shoots off the bed and makes an attempt at cleaning our mess. I look out the window, my entire face on fire because what the hell just happened?! Dammit Jacob!

“What? Oh, um, alright,” Evie says, nearly stuttering. “Be careful out there.”

“We will. You okay? You’re sweating.”

“It’s a bit stuffy in here. I’ll open a window to let some air inside,” she says. “I’m fine though. Just clearing up dinner. Excuse me.”

I watch her leave without her sparing a glance in my direction. I can’t hide my disappointment, but Jacob misinterprets it. 

“Rest up Genevieve. We’ll need you out in the field soon,” Jacob says. 

“Of course. Be safe tonight.”

“Aye.”

I’m left alone with my thoughts. I hope Evie will return soon and we can talk about what almost happened. I’m not sure if I owe her an apology or if we should make another attempt. I thought my feelings were one sided. But I can’t stop thinking about how she pulled me closer, with a burning desire in her eyes. 

Maybe rejection doesn’t await me. Maybe Evie Frye is just as attracted to me as I am to her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kiss is coming soon! I swear!


	18. Chapter 18

Evie is avoiding me. 

Three days have passed since our near kiss. Three days have gone by since I’ve last laid eyes on her. Though there are hints of her presence in the train car. A blanket bunched up in the corner of the arm chair. Blouses, vests, socks toss carelessly over the desk chair or on the floor. I smell her natural perfume in the air when I wake in the morning, cursing myself for not waking just a few minutes earlier so I can speak to her or catch the ends of her clothing before she leaves. 

It’s torture and the longer I go without seeing her, the more my mood sours and I turn inward to unleash my anger and frustrations. This is my fault. I know it. I feel foolish for pushing my luck with Evie. We had a great friendship. Why did I have to seek more? Had I misread all of her caresses and soft looks? 

I don’t know. 

I wish I wasn’t bound to this bed and could go find her to talk about it. 

She doesn’t leave me completely to my own devices. There’s a tray of food and water next to the bed every morning. And a Rook named Sybil, checks on me throughout the day, clearing my dirty dishes, bringing me lunch and dinner, laying out fresh clothes for me to wear, pouring a bath and sticking close in case my muscles give out and I slip in the wooden tub. She feeds me my daily dose of pain medication at exactly seven in the evening and a few minutes later I’m fast asleep. (On the third day, I realize Sybil’s keeping to a precise schedule, no doubt by Evie’s design so she can slip in without fear that I’m awake and alert.)

Sometimes Henry will visit and keep me company. When I ask about the mission, he smiles and tells me to not worry about it, to focus on my healing. I roll my eyes at him and look out the window at the London cityscape, hoping to catch a glimpse of Evie sailing across rooftops. 

It’s on the fourth day that this loneliness and rejection simmers and boils over. I sit in bed, hugging myself, miserable from the pain I feel from the accident in the vault and lack of attention from Evie. 

It’s midday, the clock on the mantle reading one in the afternoon. Sybil delivered my lunch an hour ago and would return around three to pour a bath for me. I have time and I can’t stand being in this rocking cabin any longer. The rest has been good and my pain is dismissed enough that I can walk without assistance. I dress in the clothes laid out and search my trunk for a jacket to wear. 

The train comes to a stop and I bolt onto the platform, blending in with the crowd in case Sybil or any of the other Rooks inside spot me. When I make it onto the street, I sigh and dip into an alley to collect my bearings. The streets are familiar and I spot the rotund roof of Saint Paul’s Cathedral. 

Whitechapel is only a few blocks away and I start walking in that direction. I miss Essie. I want to see her. I hold so much affection inside and I want a place to pour it into. I can find some comfort in her arms since Evie has closed herself off from me. 

When I reach my neighborhood, I search and search and search. But Essie isn’t on her familiar corners. I go to her apartment, but no one answers when I knock and pressing my ear against the door, I hear nothing inside. Stamping down my fears that something happened to Essie, I check the pubs. She’s not in the first two and I feel acid at the back of my throat. I rush to another pub and relief floods me when I look in through the window. 

Essie tosses her head back in laughter, while her hand rests on a man’s arm. She’s there with several other women of her trade, all of them working. I stand outside, watching her. She seems to glow, the fire in the hearth surrounding her in a soft aura. Her smile is easy and effortless. Genuine. So similar to the one she’s given me countless times when we slept together. 

I want to go in and ask for her attention. Hug her. Kiss her. Feel her body against mine. I need some warmth right now. But the longer I stare, the more I feel guilty for once again asking her to care for me in a way that she can’t. Because right now, I need something more than sex. I need someone to love me. I need someone to hold me. No matter how much she tries, Essie can never fill this role for me. She’s made it clear over and over since the start of our friendship. I have to let her go. 

I searched for Essie, but in truth, I want Evie. 

Stepping away from the window, I draw my coat closer to me and walk away, out of Whitechapel. I walk and walk and walk, my feet landing on the sidewalks of the city of London, the Strand, a bridge over the Thames twice and finally stop in a park in Westminster. My ankles pulse angrily and I collapse onto a wooden bench, exhaling and pulling my shirt that sticks to my sweaty skin. The pain crawls its way back to my body, my side feeling as if it’s close to a fiery source. My stomach growls with hunger, my head is heavy from weariness, grief and that all-consuming loneliness. How could four days make me feel so utterly useless?

The sun starts to set, the air growing colder and numbing my face. There are a few people in the park, scattered about, some lazing on the grass enjoying the last bites of a picnic. I think back to the impromptu picnic Evie and I shared a few days back. It brings tears to my eyes. I wish---

“Excuse me, miss?”

Startled, I look up and see a middle-aged man with dark blue eyes, a slender nose and closely cropped blonde hair smiling at me. He’s about forty or fifty, with smile lines around his mouth and worry lines on his forehead. He’s dressed in a dark blue suit that matches his eyes and a crisp white shirt with black lines on it shows over top his vest. A red handkerchief sits in a breast pocket like three peaks of a mountain. He removes his top hat and tips it in my direction. I’m not sure why he stopped to talk to me or what he wants. I’m sure I’m not giving off a friendly aura. 

“May I join you?” he asks.

I look around at all the empty benches around us. I should tell him to fuck off, go somewhere else and leave me alone. But that requires energy I don’t have. And on some level, I’m willing to accept any form of companionship. I’m so desperate, a complete stranger’s attention is satisfactory. 

“Be my guest.”

“Oh thank you. I enjoy the park at this time. The sunset is lovely, don’t you think?”

“I suppose.”

I watch from the corner of my eye as he pulls out a small notebook and a fountain pen. He removes his gloves, licks the tip of his finger and flips to a random page. “I’m always inspired by this time of day. I’m an author. Well, aspiring author. Haven’t published anything yet.” 

“Hm.”

“But you’ll hear of me soon enough.”

I start to say,  _ I hear you now _ . The bench isn’t long and though we sit on opposite ends, his voice carries far as if he’s speaking from across the field. A few park visitors look in our direction, before quickly turning away. 

“Ah,” he says. “Mother always said I had a booming voice. ‘You could make a man go deaf,’ she said. She was a bit harsh at times. My brother said she meant well.”

“Hm.”

I regret telling him he could join me. He’s talkative, his voice whiny and high-pitched. It’s irritating and I’m seconds away from fleeing. 

“Well, I should return to my story. The red is that perfect crimson right now. Like the blush of a lover,” he says. “Or the red of a blooming rose. Or, and this may be distasteful, like blood on the grey stone.”

“Sounds morbid,” I say. “Macabre.” 

“It’s all part of the adventure.”

“Not all adventures deal with blood,” I say. 

He looks at me, piercing me with those dark blue eyes. I swear I see something shifting. Dark. Almost sinister. But he blinks and that affable charm is back. “This one does. It’s a tragic affair. Two parents and their young daughter travel the world, seeking treasure that doesn’t belong to them. Some of it belongs to the histories and myths of long dead cultures. Staffs. Shields. Shrouds made of the finest material.  _ Golden apples _ .” He maintains eye contact the entire time and the hairs on my arms start to rise. I straighten in my seat, unnerved by the sudden depth in his voice and the wide smile that doesn’t budge. 

“Sounds dangerous.” 

“It is,” he says, wiggling his brow. Why does he find this so amusing? “And we’re hitting the climax of the story. The family journeys to the countryside, searching for a, um, vault of sorts. They think it’s safe. Abandoned, the treasures looted ages ago.” He speaks slowly now, picking over his words with great care, despite the forced pauses and stutters. I’m vaguely aware that my breathing has picked up, my palms starting to sweat. Who is this man?

“Why go there if the treasures are all gone?”

He perks up, his face brightening even more. It makes my stomach churn. “Ah, they believe there’s one last piece of treasure buried within its depths. So they go in, walk over traps long since deactivated, search through rooms filled with cobwebs and dust. It feels claustrophobic. Cramp. The walls drip with condensation from the ground above. But they’re used to these conditions. I would even argue, they’re comfortable in such places.”

“What--”

“They reach the innermost chamber,” he says, cutting me off. I’m dizzy from my shallow breathing. “Three enter, searching for that familiar glint of metal. But it’s empty. And worse, the final trap has been sprung.”

I exist in two places. In this park with this man who spins stories no one should know and in the story as the daughter who triggered that final trap. 

“Three enter. One, unfortunately, emerges covered in the blood of her parents. Tsk. Such a tragic affair.”

I can’t look away. I need to. I want to. But I can’t look away from his gaze. Like shards of ice after a storm, his eyes are sharp as that darkness pools back. Speaking through the sudden dryness in my mouth, I ask, “Is that the ending?”

He shakes his hand and runs a hand through his hair. I spot a silver ring on his finger. A dark red cross embossed in the center. Fuck. “It would have been,” he says coolly. “If the daughter knew her place. Stuck to obscurity like she was supposed to. But we have a kink in our story and I must ask you Genevieve Rainforthe, how shall the story end now?”

I jump up and face the man, the Templar, who tells a story only I know. He looks at me, disdain striking his once personable features. But it morphs into a frenzied, chilling smile that will haunt me in my dreams. Dark shadows move around us, hulking figures that draw closer intending to do harm. 

If I were my mother or father, I’d strike the Templar down. Unleash my blade in the neck or pierce his heart. I’d face him in a duel that’d end in one of our deaths. I’d follow the Creed as I was taught to do, become the assassin I was meant to be. 

But I am not my parents or Henry Green or Jacob Frye or Evie Frye. I am ten years removed from that night that left me covered in my parents’ blood. Yet I do now, what I did then. 

I back away and run to the horizon. 

The Templar shouts orders, but the words are lost over the wind and somewhere deep in the back of mind, I know that if I’m caught I will die. 

Damn the burning in my muscles. I run with a speed and ferocity that would surprise me if I weren’t outrunning my death. I bump into one of the dark figures, hear a loud grunt, stumble and regain my balance. The park’s iron archway is just a few feet ahead. I dodge the figure that lunges from some bushes, grip the cool metal and use it to control my slide on the sidewalk. 

I can’t tell what’s faster: my body or the thoughts in my mind. London blurs around me, the streets, shops and alleys all merging into one. Somehow I notice the street signs, turning left and right in a vague sense that it will lead me to a train station. The figures give chase, some nearly nipping at my heels. But I use the crowd to my advantage, ducking around women and men at the moment before collision. I spot the train tracks, follow it and hope Bertha’s somewhere close by. 

I see it. The stairs leading to a station. The street is filled with carriages, but I cut through, jerking around horses, ignoring the curses thrown at my back. I take the steps two at a time, reach the platform just as a whistle sounds. Bertha is there, steam rising from the undercarriage and I sigh, relieved that I made it. A few feet separate us. 

And she starts to roll forward. 

Away from me. 

“Over there!” 

Fuck!  _ Stupid, stupid, stupid _ I chant as I chase the caboose. My energy is waning, my body demanding rest. I want nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep for days. 

The metal railing is within reach. I try for it, but my slick palms give way. 

The train moves faster. 

I feel someone nearly breathing down my back, spittle landing on my neck as an arm juts out to seize me. 

Summoning up the last of my energy, I grab Bertha’s railing once more and hold on to it tightly. Swinging my body around, I trip and land with a thud on the metal grating, my firm grip the only thing that keeps me from sliding across and hitting the tracks or worse, landing under the train’s wheels. 

The train rushes forward, the shrill whistle cutting through the air once more. I see three figures huffing and sweating on the station’s platform, deep scowls cut across their faces. When I stand, it’s on shaky legs and I keep a firm hold on the railing to help me stay balanced. The figures turn away, disappearing into the crowd. My hands shake, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. I suck in air, coughing from the rawness that burns my throat. 

Limping inside, I make it through the first car without meeting anyone. Inside the second car, a group of Rooks gawk at me and I’m sure I look frightened with my wild hair and wide eyes. They don’t move. Don’t speak. Just stare as I cross the room. It’s in the third car that I hear voices raised in argument. I pause and look at my parents’ portraits, their features blurring and shifting. I wipe my eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” 

The argument masks my entrance into Evie’s car. Rounding the corner, I see Sybil, Henry, Jacob and Evie. Her voice carries over the others, her back to the others. Sybil is the first to see me, a small gasp slipping from between her lips. The noise catches Henry and Jacob’s attention, who turn towards me. 

“Genevieve? What--where-goodness are you alright?” Henry asks. 

Evie pivots on her heel, her anger dissolving in mere seconds as she looks at me. I sink onto the bed, my hands still violently shaking. “I met Starrick’s replacement.”

“What?” the assassins say in unison. 

I inhale, but it comes up short. I try again. No luck. Everything feels too tight. My clothes stick to me. My muscles feel as though they’ll burst. Black dots cloud my vision. I hear everything. Feel everything. My thoughts crowd my mind. I see the vault. My parents dying on the floor, blood pooling around them. The cool starry night that greets me after my escape. Essie sleeping in my arms. Grandfather crying at my parents’ graves. Evie smiling at me. That man’s cool, emotionless blue eyes. The council denying my request to leave Excalibur alone. The blood that once covered my hands.

I can’t. 

I can’t.

I….

“Sh. Sh. It’s alright. I’m right here.” 

My forehead rests against Evie’s shoulder and with a slight twist, my face is nestled against her neck. She holds me close, her arms tight around my waist and shoulder. Her hand massages the back of my neck. I don’t realize I’m crying until I see a damp spot on her shirt. 

The only sound inside is her gentle whispers and the pop of the fire in the fireplace. I find purchase on her clothes, my fingers clawing at the back of her shirt. 

“I’m sorry I’m so weak,” I say through a sob. “I’m sorry this keeps happening.”

She leans away, cups my chin with her hand and forces me to look at her. Her green eyes have the power to melt my tension. She brings our foreheads together, humming. “You are the furthest thing from weak.”

I don’t believe her.

But I want to. 

* * *

When I’ve calmed down, Evie explains that she sent Henry, Jacob and Sybil into the other car to give me space. I look down at my hands, suddenly shy. “We should talk,” I say. “About Starrick’s replacement. About what happened.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yeah, while it’s still fresh in my mind.”

“Okay.” She rises from the bed and cups my face, tilting it up and I’m shocked by the fiery protectiveness I see in her eyes. “But first, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“N-no,” I stammer.

“Good. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

“Don’t apologize. He wouldn’t have shown himself had you been around.”

“I shouldn’t have left you alone. Not with Templars about.” She releases my face then. “I’ll grab Jacob and Henry. And some food for you.” 

I whisper my thanks and kick off my boots as I wait. They all shuffle inside a few minutes later. Jacob hovers by the desk, while Henry leans against the wall across from the bed. Evie puts a plate with sandwich into my hands and takes her spot right next to me. 

“Genevieve, are you okay?” Henry asks. 

I nod and rip off a corner of the sandwich. “I will be. In time.”

“What happened?” he asks. 

“I was feeling lonely and cooped up, so I decided to take a stroll. I-I wanted to see my friend Essie. I wanted to know she was okay.” Evie places her hand on my shoulder. Whether it’s meant to comfort me or calm her own fears, I don’t know. “I found her in Whitechapel, but she was busy, so I walked some more and eventually made it to a park over in Westminster.”

I tell them about the Templar approaching me, pretending to be a kind, but talkative man. “The conversation started off normal enough. He talked about the sunset, mentioned that he was a writer and started to talk about a story he’s working on.” I bow my head, my shoulders rising close to my ears. Evie rubs small circles in my back. If Jacob and Henry find it odd, they don’t say anything. “Then it grew strange. His story featured a family that went on adventures collecting treasures. The family in the story was my family. My parents and I.”

“H-how do you know that?” Henry asks. 

“He talked about their final adventure to a vault. How three people walked in, but only one emerged.”

Everyone stills. Even Evie stops her comforting circles on my back. “Genevieve,” she whispers. 

“He knew about the blood. About my parents’ blood that I was drenched in when I crawled out that vault.” 

Henry leans away from the wall. “You went into that vault?”

I nod slowly, avoiding everyone’s eyes. “I did. By then, my parents thought it was a good idea for me to tag along for most of their missions. I’m not sure if others in the guild knew. Judging by your palpable shock, I’m assuming few, if any, knew that fact. But yes, I was there. I followed my parents’ into that vault that night.” I exhale, oddly relieved now that the weight no longer sits on my chest. For years, I wondered why no one from the Brotherhood questioned me. Why didn’t anyone sit me down and probe my mind, dig through my memories to determine what exactly happened that night? Eventually I accepted no one knew the truth, that it was my burden to carry. 

“He told me that had I known my place, had I stuck to my anonymity, that the story would have ended with my parents’ death. But now that we’re hunting Excalibur again well….”

“Alright, so I think we can all agree that that prick is going to die in agony,” Jacob says through gritted teeth. Evie nods in agreement. 

“Before we jump to that, there’s some questions that need answered,” Henry says. Though I feel his own anger radiating out of him. 

“Such as?” Evie asks. Her hand moves on my back again, though I suspect it’s to keep herself from wringing her hands together. 

“For starters, how did they know to target Genevieve so quickly today?” Henry asks. “London is a large city. The Templars are aware of our-” He motions to Jacob, Evie and himself- “presence because of our search for the Shroud. Genevieve is a newcomer. But it’s clear that man knew the exact moment to approach her.”

“He won’t get that chance again,” Evie says. 

“Undoubtedly. Second question, what was the point in approaching you?” Henry looks at me. 

“Intimidation.”

“Did it work?”

I sigh. “I don’t know.” 

Henry pulls away from the wall in an attempt to comfort me. But Evie sends him a chilly glare, making it clear she’s the only one allowed near me. For now at least. Henry holds up his hands and leans against the wall once more. “There has to be more to it,” he says. “How did he even know you were involved with this mission? We’re missing something.”

“Why don’t we ask him?” Jacob says. He cracks his knuckles and I swear I can feel the twins feeding off the same powerful, vengeful energy. “Let’s scour London and find him.”

“In due time. I promise,” Henry says. “Besides there’s another question, one Genevieve is clearly chewing over.”

He’s right. The question has haunted me since the encounter. For years I carried that story in my heart, never hinting to it since my parents’ death. Not even Grandfather knows the truth. The memories of that night were locked up in my mind, emerging in my dreams to torment me. It was a punishment I willingly accepted. 

But that man taunted me. Flung that story, MY story, in my face to frighten me. It worked. I’m tempted to pack my belongings and flee on the next ship to a new city and a new identity. But I’ll never escape the memory of that night. Or that most important question. 

Three sets of eyes are on me. Three assassins silently waiting for me to voice this damned question. I dread to even speak it aloud. 

“If I was the only one to emerge from the vault that night, if I never uttered a word to a single soul about what happened, how can a Templar knight retell the story almost as well as I can?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the (sort of?) cliffhanger. But I promise all will be revealed. "In due time," as Henry would say. 
> 
> Also sorry there was no kiss this chapter. I promise it's coming up! 
> 
> I hope to have another update soon. It's already written, but I may change it a bit (because Evie is feeling really, really, really guilty). Until then, take care!


	19. Chapter 19

After three nights of sleeping alone in a cold bed, I find myself wrapped in Evie’s arms, falling in and out of a light doze. 

Exhausted from my encounter with the Templar, the escape from the park and recounting the events to Evie and the others, I nearly collapse in on myself, wanting nothing more than to sleep. As soon as I finished my story, Evie ushered her brother and Henry from her cabin and gently asked me to continue my modest meal. I nibbled on the sandwich, not really tasting it. Instead, I focused on Evie who performed Sybil’s typical duties. She poured a warm bath for me, cleared away my empty plate and measured out the right dosage of the healing tonic, setting it aside until I was clean. 

“I won’t be far,” she said. “Give a shout if you need anything.” She left, giving me privacy to bathe without interruption. Thirty minutes went by before she cracked the door to check on me. By then I was clean and dressed in loose fitting clothes. I took my medicine without being prompted and crawled onto the mattress, watching once again as she cleared away the water and stored the tub. After dressing in her own typical night clothes (I was courteous enough to look away), she hesitated for one second before drawing back the covers, sliding beside me and pulling me to her chest. 

I listen to her heartbeat, noting the steady  _ thumps _ . One of her hands strokes my hair, while the other draws lazy circles on my back. (It’s over my shirt and I mentally curse the existence of this fabric that acts as a barrier between my skin and Evie’s.) Though my eyes are nearly closed and I’m tucked under her chin, I can feel her heavy thoughts. I’m not sure how to break this silence or if I even should. 

We’ll need to address the past few days and the event that led to her keeping her distance. My face burns at the idea of acknowledging our near kiss. But better to do it now than skirt around it.

“I can hear your thoughts,” I whisper. 

“Are they clear? Can you understand them?” she asks. 

“Afraid not.”

“Damn. That makes my apology more difficult.”

I lean away, try to find her eyes in the dark. Her hand stills on my head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“It was my distance that drove you out of the train. Had I been more attentive, less consumed with my own….” She searches for the right word. “With my own anxieties, then you wouldn’t have fled and sought attention from someone else. You would have never encountered  _ that man _ .”

“Our paths would have crossed eventually,” I say. I see his cool blue eyes that pin me down in my seat. I shiver, hugging Evie closer to protect me. “He would have found a way to corner me. Don’t feel guilty over that.”

She scoffs, but I hear the lightness in her voice. “You’re too understanding.”

“I’m too weary to act defensive. Plus, I hate being in a disagreement with you.”

“Agreed,” she whispered, her breath tickling my ear. “The past few days were difficult to say the least.”

“We’re attached to each other, it seems.” I smile into her neck and she shivers. 

It falls silent after that as we try to determine if we’ll have this conversation tonight or save it for the morning when we can see the truth reflected in our eyes. Evie nudges me closer to her, firmly plants her chin on top of my head. She sniffles. 

“My heart plummeted when I saw you fall through that hole,” she whispers into my hair. I squeeze her waist, feeling her tense in our embrace. “I was certain you had fallen to your death. And suddenly, I heard father’s words in my mind. I understood why he repeated it over and over again. ‘Don’t allow personal feelings to compromise the mission.’ I thought it was meant to narrow my focus, keep my eyes on what was most important. But now I know his words are a shield for my heart. A way to protect myself from losing someone I care about.”

Her hand stills on my back and for a while the only sound in the room is her shaky breathing. She swallows hard, curls around me. “Those few seconds between seeing you fall and hearing your voice again were some of the scariest I’ve experienced in my life. Until today. I came back to the car early. I wanted to talk to you. Talk out these feelings I’ve had for weeks. But you were gone and it felt like being on the other side of that hole again. I panicked at the thought that I drove you away.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize Genevieve. You did nothing wrong.” Her voice cracks, she sniffles again and I can tell by the way her body trembles that she’s crying. “I was a fool. We’re each other's responsibilities and I failed you when you most needed me. What if he hurt you? Or worse? I would hate myself forever.”

“I wouldn’t,” I say. Wriggling out from under her, I shift until we look into each other’s eyes. Our arms are still wrapped around the other. We’re too afraid to let the other go. 

No. 

We need to stay wrapped together. It’s safe here. Warm. It’s where we belong. 

The moon breaks through the clouds, the car filling with pale light from the full moon outside. Evie’s tears shine silver in the light. I wipe them away with my thumb. “I can never hate you,” I whisper. “Never. I….I appreciate you and how protective you are. But I don’t want you to feel like today was your fault. It wasn’t.”

“You’re just trying to sooth me.”

“I am,” I admit. My thumb glides along her cheek, down to her bottom lip. A sharp breath warms my palm, but she doesn’t flinch or squirm. In fact, her pupils widen as I trace the soft skin. “I hate seeing you cry.”

“And I hate seeing you in pain.”

I hum. “Then let’s work to have happier days together.”

She inches closer. I shift towards her. We’re now sharing one pillow with only a few inches between us. The air warps around us. I hear my heart in my chest. We’re so close I can count the freckles on her face, can imagine my own constellations that only I know and name. Her hand slides down, slips under my shirt to touch my bare back. My hum is embarrassingly close to a moan, the small touch enough to send sparks down my spine. 

How could I doubt myself or Evie? How could I question the meaning of every little touch, caress, longing look that occurred between us these past few weeks? How did I convince myself that Evie didn’t care for me like I cared for her? Because as we move closer, as her eyes become clearer, her nose brushes against mine, her hand presses firmly into my back, it clicks in my mind that this would eventually happen. We would act on our mutual fondness. We would carve out space for this affection and intimacy to help us survive this mission.

If Jacob or Henry interrupt this moment, I will kill them. 

Her green eyes sparkle in that familiar way whenever she’s smiling. “Don’t kiss me when I’m crying.”

“Stop crying so I can kiss you.”

She pushes on my back, though I don’t need the encouragement. My hand wraps around the back of her neck. Our lips connect and I know then that I’ll never desire another woman like I desire Evie Frye. She is the dock that my ship will seek shelter at long after the storm has subsided. 

The first kiss is awkward. Evie fumbles, trying to find her way. I’m too eager. It’s short. Too short. 

But so perfect. 

She opens her mouth and I sense the apology perched on her tongue. But I won’t let her apologize for what was one of my happiest moments. I inhale, pull her back, pouring every little warmth and affection I’ve carried with me since our first conversation. If she’s afraid of being a bad kisser (which she’s not) then she’ll learn from experience. But kissing her is quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes. 

Her tongue swipes against my bottom lip and I’m all too happy to let her in, to deepen this kiss. And she moans, a soft sound at the back of her throat as she pushes me on my back and lays partially on top. My hands start to roam, sliding down her sides, her back, her arms, feeling the muscles hidden under soft skin. I feel old scars, rises in her skin that are slightly rough under my finger pads. I want to kiss them and listen to the stories of their origins. 

When we pull back, we’re both breathing hard. All of the sound comes rushing back to me, the squeal of the train on the tracks, the clock keeping time on the mantle, the muffled shuffling of the furniture in the room. But I see nothing further than Evie Frye, her green eyes and that dark brown hair that curtains down her left shoulder. 

“I’m fond of you,” I whisper, cutting off her apology before she can begin. 

“As am I.” She chuckles. “This is new to me.”

“It’s okay. We can learn together.” 

She lowers her head, just enough to brush our lips together. A tease. I quirk an eyebrow and reach for the back of her neck But she’s already dipping lower. She nips at my bottom lip and I wonder if she’s truly as inexperienced as she claims to be. 

“Like that?” she asks. 

“Uh huh.”

We get lost in another kiss, the emotions sweeping us away to a place that is both unfamiliar and so comforting. I’ve been with other women. Women from countless cities. But they’ve never made my heart hammer in my chest or my entire body tingle in anticipation. Not even Essie was skilled in that way. Like a flame to a wick, I burn with light, warmth and desire for one person. 

“I should have never fled the other day,” she says once we break apart. She rolls off me, back onto her side. I pout, but she ignores it. “Being with you is a delight.”

“You have me now.”

She caresses my cheek and I lightly grasp her wrist, place a kiss on her palm. “Yes, you’re right here. Don’t.” She exhales, her brows knitting together. “Don’t leave again.”

“I promise I won’t.”

“I won’t shy away from my feelings towards you. I know I’m not Essie….”

“I don’t want you to be.”

But she shakes her head. “I never gave much thought to courting, partnership or commitment. There were people I was attracted to. But it was all fleeting. And.” She pauses, the edge of her tongue darting out to run along her lips. It shouldn’t arouse me as much as it does. “The mission was always more important. Until you.”

“Me?”

She nods, a soft, easy smile appearing on her face. She has so many smiles, but this is my favorite. When she looks at me like I shine brighter than the sun. “Yes. At first, I didn’t know what was happening. Why you were always on my mind. Why I wanted you to look at me and smile. Why I was always giddy and nervous when you stood close to me. For so long, all I knew was the life of an assassin and you came and practically threw all my thoughts off balance,” she says, chuckling. “And I found that I didn’t mind so much. When you nearly kissed me….”

“When  _ we  _ nearly kissed,” I corrected. 

She scoffs and I can perfectly imagine her rolling her eyes. “I panicked. I thought you’d want more than what I was willing to give right then. And I know how much you cherish Essie, how much you miss her even though you’ve said nothing about it. I guess in a way I felt inadequate.”

“You thought I only desired you for sex?”

“I thought it was a possibility.”

“I’m not shallow, Evie.”

“I know!” She covers her face with her hands and groans. I smile and hold her by the waist, letting my lips fall to kiss her shoulder. “I wasn’t thinking rationally. My feelings cloud my more logical side,” she says with her hands still covering her face. I watch her, wondering when I’ve ever made Evie feel as if she had to fill Essie’s gap. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you feel as if that’s a requisite for being with me. It’s not,” I say. I swallow hard, feel my face warm from this conversation. It’s one thing kissing her. It’s another using words to describe how I feel. “It’s true that I wanted to be with Essie. Not because of some deep love I held for her. It was just convenient. I love her, sure. But as a dear friend. I realize now that what I feel for her and what I feel for you are in stark contrast to one another.”

“What do you feel for me?” she whispers. She lets her hands fall from her face and twists her neck slightly to look at me.

“Like I never want to stray far from your side. I wish to walk alongside you for as long as you desire it.”

“Even though I’m an assassin?”

I nod against her. “I would never ask you to abandon the Creed. And I will need distance from the Brotherhood after this mission. But I don’t want to leave you. I never want to leave you.”

“Then don’t,” she whispers, breaking out of my embrace. She holds my face with one hand and moves her lips closer to mine. “We’ll create a space for the two of us.”

When she kisses me again it’s with more confidence. I hold her by the waist, press her close to me because I meant what I said. I never want to leave her side. She kisses with a passion that’s almost needy, her tongue once again licking my bottom lip. I let her in, let her explore and caress and search for that space that is our own. A space that Templars and Assassins can’t find; a place filled with warm, bright days and calm nights, a place where my pain from the past lives in harmony with my hope for this pleasant future I’m building with Evie. 

Our kiss ends with a series of light pecks and she presses her shoulder against mine, gazing at me while trailing a finger along my jaw. My eyes grow heavy and I yawn into the back of my hand. Evie pulls the covers over us and buries her face in my neck, exhaling once and together we drift off to sleep. 

* * *

As sweet as it was falling asleep with the knowledge that Evie cared for me in the same way I cared for her, waking up in the morning is hard because of the red hot pain I feel on my injured side. I regret leaving the train yesterday, my body protesting and fighting back against any motion I want to make. Evie notices my distress as soon as she’s awake and tells me, with a stern tone, that I’m not to move from bed unless I need to relieve myself. 

“But….”

“No,” she says, fixing me with a hard look. “You need to rest today and possibly for the rest of the week. I’ll find some breakfast for you to eat before you take some more medicine.”

I groan and lean against the headboard. “Will you keep me company?” It’s such a selfish request. We have a sword to locate and the hours she spends with me could be better spent tracking down clues. But like I said last night, I don’t want to be far from her. 

“Of course. Though you can’t distract me too much.”

“As long as we make it up after this damn mission.”

Evie pauses midway through tucking her shirt into the bands of her pants and I fear I said something I shouldn’t. She faces me, her face a faint pink. “I would like that very much.”

After breakfast and my dose of medicine, I fall back asleep while Evie sits and works at her desk. She wakes me at lunch for soup and sandwiches. Jacob and Henry pop in to check on me, but for the most part, my day passes with Evie as my sole companion. It doesn’t bother us. I prefer it and I suspect she feels similarly. 

Now that we’ve acknowledged our mutual feelings, the air between us is more affectionate. Evie reaches for me throughout the day, sometimes pausing her work to caress my face or slot our hands together. She delights in leaving me speechless, learning quickly the best way to do that is to kiss me unexpectedly. When Evie believes my attention is elsewhere, she’ll slip into my line of sight and go in for the kiss we both want. It’s not the only way we touch though. She giggles and sighs anytime I press a chaste kiss to the inside of her hand or her knuckles, always looking at me fondly before returning to her desk. 

These distractions keep me from thinking about yesterday or anything related to the mission. I know eventually I’ll be forced to reckon with the truth of my parents’ death. But I don’t want to think about it now. I don’t want answers to those hard, painful questions just yet. Though I yearn for something more intimate, I stick to these small moments, relishing them and letting my anticipation build in the back of my mind. 

The only way to keep my mind occupied is to kiss Evie or to sleep. I doze throughout the day, always careful to sleep on the side facing her desk so she’s one of the first things I see when I wake. 

She’s an expert at ignoring my pleading looks, always slipping into a deep concentration as she works. After my third nap of the day, I decided to let her continue in peace and pull out my parents’ journal to read just to give my mind something else to do. I’m in the middle of learning how to concoct an elixir that will paralyze a foe when Evie finally moves from her desk and joins me in bed. She sits on top of the covers and hugs me close to her, encouraging my head to rest on her shoulder. 

“Anything insightful?” she asks. 

“Yes and no. I’ve tagged pages to revisit. I think some would be useful for you in the future. But so far, nothing that will help us retrieve the sword.” Or figure out who that Templar is. 

“Unfortunate,” she says, sweeping hair behind my ear. 

“Mhm.”

“Any embarrassing secrets? Glimpses of you as a child?”

“I’d never tell if there were.”

I hear the grin in her voice, one that’s reflected on my own face. “Spoilsport.” She squeezes my waist. “Ready for some dinner?”

“That sounds good.” 

I kiss her palm before she slips out of the car. I continue to read and wait for her. She returns with a tray of soup, finger sandwiches and warm tea. We eat, enjoying a conversation that holds no weight but feels important because of the company I’m in. Dinner lingers because we don’t want the conversation to end. But end it must as I feel a painful spasm coming on. Evie must anticipate it as well because she sets our empty dishes to the side and pours a dosage of my medicine. 

“I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Evie says as I settle on the mattress. I try to stay awake until she slides in next to me. But I’m drifting off as I sigh into the pillow. I sleep peacefully, waking briefly when strong arms wrap around me and a warm body presses into my back. “Good night Genevieve.”

She squeezes my waist and I feel a kiss on the back of my ear. I answer with a smile, too sleepy to respond with words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They kissed!!
> 
> Their first kiss was originally going to happen next chapter, but I felt like it worked better here. 
> 
> I will return with another chapter as soon as I can! Take care until then!


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crap! It's been a while since I last updated this. Here's a new chapter! It's pretty heavy. But I hope you enjoy it :)
> 
> CW: Death

The euphoria of being with Evie lasts another day or two. And then I crash. Hard. Like my wings had been clipped and I was plummeting to the solid ground below. It was sudden. Painful. Exhausting. As I fell, I heard that man’s voice, saw his hard eyes that lusted for blood, felt my skin crawl at his smirk. I hated him. But more than anything I hated myself for being so weak. 

I was always weak. 

My parents saw potential in me, but there was never anything there. And they paid for it with their blood. With the blood that seeps into my clothes, sticks to my skin, that warms me in the cool air. My breath comes out in thick puffs that I can see. The stars burn brightly against the black sky. I feel a scream building within me, but it won’t come out. Even when I sink to the ground, hunched over like a feral animal sucking in air, that pained scream won’t….

“Genevieve!”

I shoot up, struggling to catch my breath. “Wh-where am I?”

I blink and when I open my eyes, Evie is there with her hand cupping my face. I feel, more than see, her concern. “It’s alright,” she whispers. “You were having a nightmare.”

My heart rate comes down as I take in my surroundings. I’m not in the clearing with the Isu vault underneath me. I’m in Evie’s room that’s warm and safe and a comfort. I’m okay. Despite the tremble in my hands. 

She rubs small circles on my skin with her thumb. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

“What happened?”

She doesn’t stop the soothing circles, but she knits her brows and she chews on her bottom lip. “You were thrashing in your sleep. It was pretty violent. I was worried you were having a spasm and I called your name over and over. But you didn’t wake until I touched your shoulder.”

“Did I hurt you?”

She’s shocked for a moment at my question, but recovers. “No. Of course not.” Evie takes her hands and runs them down my arms. I feel myself relax into it, a sigh breaking through my lips. “I thought you would settle on your own,” she says. “You usually did the other nights.”

Other nights? 

I frown at her, trying to understand. This wasn’t my first time having this nightmare. Though tonight’s was by far the most visceral and chilling. But I thought the horrors were contained within my mind. I didn’t want Evie to worry. 

“What are you talking about?” I ask.

She glances away, shivering slightly at the hard edge in my voice. “It started three or four nights ago. You would groan and twitch in your sleep. Sometimes you’d mumble to yourself, but it was incoherent. When I cuddled up next to you, you’d usually calm down and drift off again.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” My palms start to sweat. How could she keep this from me?

“You never brought it up,” she answers. “I thought maybe you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. I didn’t want to push you.”

It made sense, even to my still terror-stricken, rattled mind.. She tried to ask before, usually in the daytime when we were both awake and alert. But I shut her down everytime, either by distracting her with a kiss or sidestepping the question all together. I appreciated her attempts. But I didn’t want to go back to that night. I tucked those memories away, carefully constructed a false narrative around it, one where I was far away when my parents died. And in the span of a short conversation, that Templar tore that facade apart. But I still wasn’t able to face that blood soaked tapestry. And I didn’t want to share it with Evie. 

Of course my denial would lead to these violent dreams for me and restless nights for Evie. 

“I need some fresh air.”

She wants to protest, but doesn’t. She slides away, giving me space to climb off the bed and stretch. She slips her hand into my palm and squeezes. “I’ll be here.”

I catch her by surprise when I turn around and press my lips against her forehead. She sucks in air, her eyes wide even when I pull back to brush hair behind her ear and run my finger along her jaw. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I just need a few minutes.” 

I consider walking the length of the train two or three times to calm my heart. But the idea of running into someone else and explaining why I’m awake so late at night leaves a nasty taste in my mouth, killing the thought. So I stand on the small metal terrace and rest my elbows on the cool railing. Bertha releases a shrill whistle as we pass under a brick tunnel. When we emerge, I see the dark outline of buildings that make up London's cityscape. 

My parents would love it here. The people are charming in their own way, but always in a hurry. London feels like a city on the brink of greatness, a feeling that’s held together by the queen and her many ideas. The food here is decent, but still hearty and warm. And the beers and ales are always mouth-watering. What would it be like to wipe foam from my mouth while my parents whispered their plans for our next mission? What would our apartments look like in this bustling city? How would we spend our free moments in between missions for the guild? 

I wish I knew. I wish I could experience it at least once. 

I just want more time. 

That’s why my dreams terrify me. Reliving those final moments with my parents are harrowing. But experiencing a reality that will never be is heartbreaking. In my dreams I can imagine my parents there in the pub with me or in a large apartment in a lofty manor. I can envision my full assassin regalia complete with the hidden blade forged to fit me perfectly. I can almost see my parents meeting Evie. They’d all so easily fall in love with each other while I stand to the side and watch with a warm smile. 

But when I wake those images vanish like smoke clearing in the air and I’m left with those taunting whispers of what could be. 

The evening air nips at me, even with my long sleeves and I take one final deep breath before retreating back to Evie’s car. As promised, she’s right there, awake and waiting for me to return. I sink on the side of the bed, humming as her hand wraps around my shoulder. She sits next to me, pressing herself so close that our legs and hips touch. After a long silence, Evie finally decides to break it. 

“What’s going on here?” she asks, tapping my temple. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about how much I enjoy the scent of your shampoo,” I say with a nervous smile. 

She smiles back, clearly seeing through my deflection. “What else?”

“Uh, I’m thinking that I’d like to kiss you right now.”

She obliges me, her lips pressing against mine. She’s warm and soft, a reminder that she’s right now and still alive. Not like in my dreams where she’s sometimes cold and stiff, a heavy weight in my arms. When she pulls back, she nuzzles her nose against mine. “Done. Tell me what else you’re thinking about.”

I rub my hands together, in need of some way to expel this nervous energy. “Before this mission, I never dreamed about that night. I locked it away. Fabricated a narrative where I wasn’t there, where I didn’t fail my parents,” I say in a rush. I take a deep breath and try to steady my heart. But the more I think about the nightmare, the more unsettled I feel. Like I’ll wake and find myself back in that chamber that reeks of blood. “Now when I close my eyes, I see it all. I hear it all. It’s hard to escape. I don’t….” 

Evie wipes away the tears that leak from my eyes with her thumb. “You’ve carried that weight for over a decade,” she whispers. “It simmered within you for so long. Of course it would boil over one day.”

“I feel weak. Useless.”

“Don’t!” she says with a firm tone. She hooks her finger under my chin and turns my head towards her direction. “What you endured at such a young age would break even the most seasoned Brother. I can’t imagine what steel it took for you to hold this secret within you for so long.”

I try to duck my head, but she keeps a firm hold on my chin and when I avert my eyes, she gives chase and reconnects our gaze. “I hate going back there every time I lay down to sleep.” 

“I know,” Evie says quietly, like she realizes how little she can do when we’re asleep. “What if I hold you a little tighter at night?”

“That sounds nice,” I admit. Though it can do little against the twisted corridors of my mind. But she’s trying and I’m willing to accept any comfort she wants to give. She maneuvers us back on the bed, encouraging my head on her shoulder and though I’m afraid to drift off again, I feel safer in her arms. Her hand slips under my shirt’s hem, resting, palm side flat, on my spine. 

“Tell me a happy memory,” she says suddenly. 

“What?”

“Tell me a happy moment,” she repeats. “Something with your parents. I want to know more from your past.”

It takes a few seconds for me to think of something. It’s bittersweet, but the sweetness shines brighter than the bitterness. “I love the beach,” I whisper into her neck. “I love the breeze on my face and the hint of salt in the air. I love when droplets of ocean spray on my face and arms when a wave greets the sand. My parents took me to a beach near our home on my birthday. It was my last birthday with them.”

I remember the day well. How sunlight slipped through hazy, wisps of clouds. How my father wrapped his cloak around my shoulders and I pressed it closed to me to keep the chill out. How my parents worked together set up a spread of food and we sat on a splintered piece of wood and ate. I tell Evie all of this. I mention the cold, autumn water that lapped at our ankles when we rolled up our pants’ legs and waded into the ocean. And the playful fight that broke out when my father dipped his hand in the water and threw it, in a near perfect arch, toward mother and I. 

“We camped there. My father pitched a tent and unfurled mats for us to sleep on. My mom and I built a small fire to keep us warm. Once everything was set up, we ventured just a few feet away from the light and watched the stars. Even spotted a shooting star zipping across the galaxy.”

That night ended with my parents gifting me a new hidden blade, one with a sharper edge and fine leather. It was meant to replace the practice one I used since I started my training. I remember being in awe, feeling as if I had finally earned my place with the guild. I don’t mention this to Evie though. She asked for a happy memory. 

When I’m finished, Evie hums and kisses the top of my head. I ask her for a story then and for the rest of the night, we swap tales from our childhood. She talks about her early years when she and Jacob lived with their grandparents. They were adventurous even then, turning their daily chores into imaginative feats that often caused more trouble than it solved. At a very young age, she learned how to patch up injuries and bruises because of the tumbles Jacob had. The skill came in handy when their father began to train them. 

On and on it went until the darkness of the night began to break way to the pale blues, oranges and yellows of morning. We spoke through our yawns and sleepy sighs. Our eyes would droop, but the shine in them never dimmed. I was partway through a tale of my first time scaling a building when I finally drifted off to a dreamless sleep. 

We both rise a few hours later to a sunny day. Evie’s hand still rests on my back and my face is buried against her neck. Her other hand is buried in my hair and I feel her stir. 

“You’re amazing,” I say. 

“I take it you didn’t have any bad dreams?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad.” 

Though I want to stay like this for the rest of the day, possibly forever, the mission awaits. We freshen up, dress and share a quick meal before meeting with Jacob and Henry. The two men sit in the middle of the couch when we enter the car. Jacob’s arm is tossed casually over the back of it and I’m sure my eyes are still weighed with sleep, but it looks like Henry is leaning into him ever so slightly. Evie doesn’t comment on it. I don’t think she even notices. I rub at my eyes and Henry is sitting upright. I brush the moment off. 

“Any news of the Templar?” Evie asks. 

“It’s eerily quiet throughout the city,” Henry says. Jacob nods beside him and pulls his arm away to run it through his hair. “We patrolled most of the night. Checked in with Rooks when we crossed paths with them. But nothing.” 

Evie pinches the bridge of her nose and shakes her head. I lean against the wall with my arms over my chest to hide the tremble in my hands. Quiet throughout London. It makes me nervous, my stomach clenching from anxiety and stress. The man is planning something, but what? And when would he strike? I hate the idea of innocent people being hurt during this mission. But Templars will use any tactic they can in their war against the Assassins. And we have no leads on this man. He has a brother and a mother, but that doesn’t narrow things down in the bit. 

“Pardon me?”

We all glance towards the opposite end of the car at the young man, more a boy really, with blonde hair and blue eyes. He rolls a cotton cap in his hands, his green jacket sitting skewed on his body. His pale cheeks are flush and his forehead glistens with sweat. 

“Yes?” Evie says, arching an eyebrow. 

The boy runs his tongue around his chapped lips and says, “Mr. Abberline’s asking for you.”

“Freddy? What’s he want?”

The boy bounces on the balls of his feet, preparing himself to deliver some terrible news. Guilt creeps up the back of my neck. But when the boy looks at me, I feel my heart sink into my stomach. “There’s been an incident in Whitechapel. Happened just a few hours ago. The police are already there and-”

I don’t hear anything else. Not after  _ police _ . Not when I pair it with  _ incident in Whitechapel. _ It’s the smallest push that sends my anxious mind into overdrive. Whitechapel, where I was just a few days ago. Where I went to seek out Essie. That Templar trailed me. But for how long? How much did he see?

Essie.

God no.

No, no, no, no!

A hand wraps around my wrist and I jump. Evie is speaking to me, but I can’t hear her over the ringing in my ear or the flashes of my parents’ bodies with Essie’s there beside them. 

No, please no.

There are gaps in my memory. First, we’re all on the train with the boy delivering that blow that’s like a knife to my gut, twisting and turning the blade to cause as much damage as possible. When I blink we’re weaving through the crowd on the platform, Evie’s hand locked around my wrist as she drags me. Jacob or Henry are behind us, gently shoving me along. Then we’re in a cart racing down the cobbled streets, taking such sharp turns that the carriage teeters on two wheels at time. 

Evie’s voice pierces through my thoughts as she gently encourages me to take deep breaths. But how can I when Essie may be dead? All I wanted was to keep her far from this life. To make sure she was never known to Templar or Assassin. I promised to be there whenever she needed me. And I may have failed her. My closest friend may be dead because of me. 

The carriage starts to slow down, but I jump out before it can come to a complete stop. A crowd of people form a packed semi-circle in the street in front of Essie’s building. I hear the shouts of police officers telling people to stand back. My knees buckle when I spot the edge of a white cloth on the sidewalk. Evie’s arm slides around my waist to keep me upright. She tries to get me to stay behind but I have to know. 

No.

No.

No.

“Henry. Jacob. Evie. I need your help.” A man with a thick mustache connected to equally thick sideburns walks up to our group. The end of his jacket sweeps from side to side when he walks and he pulls off his bowler hat, spinning it in his hands. The crowd parts for us until we reach the sidewalk. My stomach lurches as I see a still body under the white cloth. 

“A woman was killed last night,” the man, Mr. Abberline I assume, continues. I inch towards the body, my heart beating wildly in my chest and my breathing coming out in harsh spurts. I hear a commotion behind me, but no one comes to stop me or pull me away as I kneel on the edge of the cloth. I grip it tightly, my vision blurred. 

“Genevieve.” Startled, I look to my right to Evie who is there beside me. Her hand covers mine. “It’s okay.”

We peel back the cloth together, just enough to see the woman’s face. 

Relief overwhelms me and in my delirium, I choke on a cry of joy. 

It’s not Essie. Though I do recognize the woman under the covering. Her skin is paler, her auburn hair lusterless and her dark brown eyes shut to the world. Cora. The one who pinged me for a rich woman. 

“What happened?” Evie asks the detective. But I don’t listen to his response. I still need to find Essie. The cover falls back over Cora’s face and I shoot to my feet, bypassing the police that stand at the apartment’s entrance. There’s a few protests, but that doesn’t stop me as I take the stairs two at a time to reach Essie’s room. I spot blood on the floor, my stomach twisting even further when I see it leading to my friend’s room. There’s a dry patch on her floor near the bed and splotches on the doorframe. The room is in disarray, clothes tossed on the floor, her mirror smashed and fractured, a chair turned over and one of its legs snapped in half.

“Essie!”

I call her name over and over as I climb up more stairs until I reach the top level. The sole door in the hall is shut, but I hear voices just beyond it. My brain screams at me to burst through it and I’m close to following my instinct. But a voice of caution whispers in the back of my mind and I knock. 

“I told you all the fuck off! We don’t want to answer any questions right now.” The voice is unfamiliar to me. 

“I-I’m looking for my friend.”

There’s shuffling on the other end of the door and I squint at the sudden bright light that comes in through the window at the back of the room. But the light is blocked out by Essie. And I start to smile, relieved that she’s alive. But that feeling is knocked from me as she brings her fist down on my chest. 

“Where were you?” She strikes me again. It doesn’t hurt. There’s little force behind it. But I stumble back anyway. She gives chase, her fists raining down on my chest as she asks again, “Where  _ were  _ you?” 

“I….”

“You said you’d look out for me.” Another strike. “You said I could rely on you.” This one hits my shoulder. “You said you’d protect me. But when I needed you, you weren’t around.”

I didn’t miss the wide-eyed, fearful look when she first opened the door. Or the tear in her dress that exposes her bare shoulder with faint bruises on it. Blood trickles down her arm from a gash that I can’t see. I reach for her, but she jerks away. 

“Es, I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m here now.” 

She cradles her injured arm to her chest, slowly shaking her head and drawing her lips in. 

I swallow back the stone in my throat and try to approach her again. “We should get someone to look at your arm.”

Essie blinks and glances down at her arm as if seeing the injury for the first time. She frowns, not at the blood that’s seeping out, but at me. The simmering fear in her eyes pin me in place and I stand there with my hands uselessly held up in a placating fashion. Her fear dissolves bit by bit the more she takes me in and her face shatters as she sucks in a broken breath and releases a wail that sends a shiver down my spine. She starts to fall to her knees, but I lurch forward to catch her and this time she doesn’t push me away. Her hand digs into my shirt, clutching me to her and I hunch over her in a squat. My shirt grows wet and warm from her blood and tears, but I don’t care. 

I failed Essie once and now I refuse to let her go. 


	21. Chapter 21

I stretch my legs in front of me and tip my head against the wall behind me, exhaling and releasing the tension of the day. I hear the whispered conversation between Evie, Jacob and Inspector Abberline. The twins listen as the inspector gives them the details of what happened just a few hours ago. Essie said little during the carriage ride to the hospital and when we arrived Nurse Nightingale took one look at my injured friend and stole her away to a private room. I started to follow, but Essie turned away from me and I accepted she didn’t want me near her. For now at least. 

So I parked myself on a bench in a long hallway, staring out the window, but seeing nothing of the landscape on the other side of the glass. Nurses and doctors bustle down the corridor, pausing to ask if I was okay. But I waved them away, muttering that the blood on my shirt wasn’t mine. 

The conversation between the inspector and the assassins ends, and the twins round the corner with Evie walking ahead of her brother. 

“How are you holding up?” Jacob asks. I don’t answer. Just glance at him with a weak smile. “Right. Well I’m going to head back to the apartment and look for clues. Keep your chin up.” He pats my shoulder. 

“Thanks Jacob.”

He winks and saunters off. When he’s gone, Evie sits next to me with space between us. But the hallway is virtually empty and I slide closer until our fingers brush together. 

“I’m exhausted,” I mutter. 

“I can only imagine.” Discreetly, she slips her hand behind us and touches my back. “Have you seen Essie since we’ve been here?”

I shake my head. “It was the Templars, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” she says in a small voice. “The clues point to them. The woman who died-”

“Cora.”

“Yes. The blade that killed her was made by an experienced hand.”

“They targeted Essie because of me.” My voice lilts up towards the end, but we both know it’s not a question. There’s little reason to believe anything else. Because of my slip up Essie is injured and a woman is dead. It was a warning. Or a punishment. 

“Abberline agreed to increase the police presence in Whitechapel for a while. And we’re leaving Rooks outside the building. We’ll keep Essie safe until we kill that Templar and any associated with him.” 

“I don’t know if she’ll want to go back there,” I say, rubbing my hands together. I think about the vault and shiver. “It’ll be awhile before the memory of what happened slips to the back of her mind. But going back there will only make her recovery harder.”

“I understand. We have safe houses. Places that’re brimming with Rooks. I’ll find a suitable one for her,” she says. “I’ll make sure she’s comfortable and taken care of.” 

It’s a better alternative, though it will feel like Essie’s being kept as a prisoner. Her movements will be constantly monitored and she’ll have little privacy. And she’ll be forced to stop working until it’s safe. How long will she agree to these arrangements? And how long will she resent me for putting her in this situation? 

I have to find that damn sword.

Evie and I look up as Nurse Nightingale rounds a corner. The edges of her mouth lifts in a slight smile as she stops in front of us and clasps her hands together. 

“Miss Frye. Miss Tillman,” she greets. “Your friend is resting now. I stitched up her wound and gave her some medicine to dull the pain. You can see her now if you wish.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice threatening to crack. “One day Nurse Nightingale, I swear we’ll meet under better circumstances.”

“I look forward to that day Miss Tillman.”

Evie squeezes my shoulder before rising. “I’ll come back tomorrow,” she says. “You and Essie could use the time together.”

Nurse Nightingale points out the room Essie is in. I make a note of it, but follow Evie outside to the hospital’s courtyard. She goes to pull up her hood, but I tug on her wrist and pull her to a shadowy part around the side of the building. We’re hidden by tall shrubs, our boots resting softly on the trimmed grass. Her gasp warms my lips as I kiss her hard, my hands cupping her cheeks. She covers my hands with her own, her fingers curling around the side. 

Losing Essie was never part of the plan. Seeing her cradling her bloodied arm to her chest while crying over her brush with death and Cora’s untimely, violent passing, I felt weak and helpless, unable to comfort her in any meaningful way. I know Evie is experienced at fighting Templars. She’s faced several when she and Jacob searched for the shroud. But the fear of losing her is overwhelming and seizes onto every nerve in my body. If something happened to her, I’d burn London to draw out every Templar and Assassin in the city. 

Evie squeezes my waist, signaling we both need air. Though I kiss her for a second long, latching onto this one singular moment before we’re separated for the rest of the day. I peck her lips several times before pulling away to catch my breath. 

“I’ll be careful,” she whispers, her lips ghosting across mine. “I promise. Take care of Essie. We’ll get through this.” 

I pull her hood over her head, but I can still see the gleam of her eyes from the bit of sunlight that hits her face. She rises to her toes to kiss me once again. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says. 

I open my mouth to say something else, but think better of it and nod. I watch as she leaves the courtyard and blends with the crowd on the sidewalk. Most would lose sight of her. But I’ve adjusted to the flow of her movements, the bob of her walk that I pick her out from the rest of the pedestrians easily. And I watch until she reaches the end of the block and disappears behind a row of houses and shops. 

I will miss her tonight. But Essie needs me. If that Templar dares to return, I’d face him myself. 

The thought of fighting him is far less frightening than speaking to Essie again. 

She blamed me. Rightfully so. I  _ had  _ promised to protect. I stuck close to my apartment during the night so she or one of the other girls could come get me if someone tried to manhandle them. Most nights I would reach the building in two or three minutes ready to beat back anyone who threatened to raise a hand against my friend. 

But the one night she truly needed me, the one night when her life was in danger, the night where she could have died, I was far away on a train, sleeping in Evie’s arms, concerned with only my nightmares and the weight of this mission. 

I’m grateful for whatever luck was on Essie’s side last night. I wish that same luck had reached Cora. She didn’t deserve to die. I make a note to reach out to Inspector Abberline and let him know I would cover her funeral and burial costs. To make up for my uselessness. 

Essie doesn’t answer when I knock on her door. Part of me thinks it’s best to camp in the hallway all night and flee in the morning. But I muster some small bit of courage and peek inside. The room is small, just a few paces from wall to wall. There’s a window that offers a view of the fountain in the courtyard. In the middle of the room is a small bed and a wooden stand sits to the left. Essie lies in the middle of the bed on her side. She shifts when she hears me enter. 

“Es?”

No response. 

Nurse Nightingale said Essie was resting. Did that mean she is asleep? Or avoiding me? 

I shut the door quietly behind me. “Essie, it’s me,” I say with a sigh. “I wanted to check on you. I’ll be here all night in the hall. If you need anything, come get me.”

There’s more rustling from the sheets, but she doesn’t speak. Accepting I’m not making any progress, I slip back out the door and take up my seat on the bench. 

As soon as I’m comfortable, the door opens again. Essie peers around the side of the door, the top half of her face visible. 

“Come in.”

It’s spoken so quietly that I almost miss it. It takes a while for me to work through the shock of seeing her after everything that’s occurred. I jump up, but control my movements. I don’t want to scare her. She steps to the side to let me in and closes the door behind us. Her forearm is wrapped in white gauze and there’s a bandage where her neck and shoulder meets. Her hair is brushed back into a loose ponytail and she wears a cotton nightgown that’s grey and dull. My heart breaks and my bottom lip trembles. 

The hardest part of today is resisting the desire to go to her, to pull her in my arms and hug her. 

But I wait for her to say something or move or do anything. She stares as if taking me in for the first time. I hate the scrutiny behind her gaze, the uncertainty as she tries to determine if I’m a friend she can count on. It hurts. I understand her caution. Doesn’t soften the sting to my heart though. 

After what feels like hours, she cracks open her mouth. “Genevieve,” she says, her voice raw and dry from screaming. “Genevieve.”

“I’m here,” I say, stepping closer. Did he do something to her eyes? Can she see? Nurse Nightingale didn’t mention anything. 

Her hand glides up my arm, squeezes my bicep and continues up to my shoulder, neck and jaw. “When he attacked me, I was so afraid I’d never see you again.”

Tears build in my eyes. Slowly, I touch her elbow and she moves closer. When she presses against my chest, she melts and I feel her shudder from a deep sob. My arms circle her waist and I pull her to the bed where she clings to me once more and falls apart. 

Her cries are wails of pure anguish and misery. They fill the entire room, press against the walls and the door. I’m certain anyone who walks by would believe a woman is dying on the other side of the door. I wonder if this is the scream that Templar heard as he blade found purchase along her arm. She’s a heavy weight in my arms, my muscles burning as I force myself to keep her upright. 

Essie cries until she has no more tears. I hold her through it all, even when she’s quiet. Extending an arm to the side table, I pour a glass of water and hold it to her lips, encouraging her to drink. She takes small sips and pushes it away when she’s finished. Then, as the sun begins to set, I feel ready to ask the most difficult question. 

“What happened?”

Essie stiffens, but clears her throat and tells her story. My blood boils from the very beginning when she describes the Templar who confronted me in the park. He approached her with a charming smile, but something tingled in the back of her mind. 

“My intuition,” she whispers. “I wish I listened.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” I say. 

They settled on a price and she walked him back to her apartment. She poured wine for them and began to slip out of her jacket and scarf. 

She shivers. “A chill ran through me and when I turned around, I saw the knife in his hands and his eyes were wide because I caught him.”

They tussled. He lunged ahead and instinctively, she raised her arm to protect her face. The wine bottle was close and she brought it down on his head. He tried to pin her to the vanity, but he was light-headed from the first blow and she slipped by him still gripping the shattered top of the bottle which she swung when he dared to turn and attack her again. 

“Caught his arm pretty good.” She says it with a tinge of victory. I smile. “Then I fled out the room screaming for help. I made as much noise as I could, hoping to catch someone’s attention. I spooked him, I think. ‘Cause he fled and….”

Got Cora. Out of spite, rage or for the fun of it, he saw the young woman there just outside the building and plunged his knife in her. He wanted to claim a life no matter what. 

And when we meet again, I will claim his. 

“The rest of the girls came to see about me. We shut ourselves away in a room and waited for the police to come.” Her story ends there, folding in neatly with the scene that Evie, Jacob, Henry and I witnessed when we reached the apartment. 

I offer her the remainder of the water which she gulps down. The silence stretches between us as I work up the courage to tackle the second portion of our necessary, but difficult conversation. She passes the empty glass back and I pour another serving of water, painfully aware of her eyes locked on the side of my face. 

“I met that man who attacked you.” My voice sounds too high, almost like a squeak. I clear my throat and force myself to look her in the eye. To give her that basic decency. I shattered her world and I want her to see the guilt I carry with me. The guilt that I’ll continue to carry with me long after that man is dead. The only sign that Essie is surprised by what I said is the slight widening of her eyes. “He cornered me a few days ago, actually. Shook me to my core.”

“Why?”

I take her hand in mine and kiss the back of them. Vaguely, I make a note to tell her about Evie and I. But that will come later. For now, I shut my eyes at her warmth and try not to think just how close I came to never feeling this again. 

“Remember that day you met Jacob? How you said you could tell he was wrapped up in something big?”

She nods.

“I have to tell you something about that world. I have to share secrets that I never wanted to tell you. Not because I don’t trust you. But because I wanted to keep you safe. I  _ never  _ wanted you to be a casualty in this secret war.”

“Okay.”

Like water rushing to a fall, I tell her everything, starting with the origins of the Assassins and their conflict with the Templars. I tell her about my childhood training with my parents before they died. I tell her about Excalibur and the guild’s interest in locating it. About my encounter with the Templar that nearly ended with my capture and potential torture or murder. For so long, Essie knew there was a divide between us, a wall that I kept high and now I dismantle it until there’s nothing left. By the end, she’s softly crying and my own eyes are wet. 

“So Mr. and Miss Frye are Assassins?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re one too?”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “I walked away from the guild years ago.”

“B-but, I don’t understand,” she sputters, squeezing my hand. “Why are you working with them?”

“My parents’ died trying to find Excalibur. I very nearly died with them,” I say, shuddering. “I have to do this and finally let my parents rest.”

But she doesn’t hear. Or understand. She’s trembling and violently shaking her head as if the truth pains her. “Genevieve I love you, but that’s ridiculous. You could die!” She rises to her knees then, leans into my personal space. “What if we ran away? We’ll start over in a new city-”

“There are few cities free of Assassins or Templars. And,” I say, licking my lips. “I won’t leave Evie.” 

Essie lowers back down on the mattress, her open and eyes wide as she looks at me. Again, I try not to squirm under her gaze. A smile flickers across her lips and for the first time since we reunited, there’s a teasing light to her eyes. “You and Miss Frye?”

I nod slowly. I wonder where Evie is now. I know she’s safe. I have to believe it. But I wish I could split myself into two, a half for Evie and a half for Essie so neither woman had to look over their shoulder in fear that a Templar trails them. 

“I knew it,” she says in a quiet, excited whisper. 

“You didn’t.”

She grins at me and swats at my arm. “I did. I knew it the day you two sauntered off together. Like lovers on a stroll. That’s how you looked.” We both chuckle and in this small moment, it feels like old times. I savour it, eager for the day when we can playfully tease each other once again. She sobers then and pulls me to her until we’re cuddled on the bed again with her head on my shoulder. “So I can’t convince you to abandon your mission?”

I shake my head. “I want nothing more than to take you up on your offer. We could travel to Paris or Pisa or Athens or somewhere else lavish and glamorous. Cora….” Saying her name is like pulling a nail from my tongue. Essie winces and I run my hands down her arms. “She was right. I am a rich woman.”

“But you chose to work in a factory?”

“I needed something to do. That’s not the point here though. If I could, I’d steal you away to a city of your choice for the rest of our lives.”

“But there’s Evie,” she says, bumping her shoulder with mine. 

My face burns as I smile. “Yes, there’s Evie. After what happened to you, I feel committed more than ever to keep her safe. I can’t let someone else down.”

As always, Essie manages to slip through my hardness to provide comfort. Her hand covers my clenched fists until I relax and let our fingers connect. Her head is a familiar weight on my shoulder and I shut my eyes when I turn to kiss the top of her head. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” she whispers. 

“You were right to.”

“I was angry.”

“You were hurt. Because of me.” 

“No. Not because of you.” She starts to kiss me on the lips, like she’s done so often before. But our relationship has changed and she catches herself at the last second. Her lips graze my cheek. “Never doubt the source of our misery. It was that Templar who attacked me and killed Cora. Not you.”

“He came after you because of our friendship. If….if you didn’t know me, if we weren’t friends-”

“I’d be absolutely miserable. As would you. Please don’t suggest I should regret my connection to you, because I don’t.”

I think about what she says, notice how similar it is to what I told Evie after my encounter with the Templar. I have to believe Essie now, like I asked Evie to believe me then Plus, my life would also be miserable if I didn’t have her right here beside me. 

And I will make that Templar pay for daring to separate Essie and I. 

That night, after a meal of warm soup and a slice of bread, Essie dozes next to me while I use a candle to read my parents’ journal. I was avoiding it. Things were going well with Evie and I wanted to forget the mission, pretend we were normal women. But today was a necessary jolt to my senses and I find myself digging into my parents’ notes once more. Essie mewls and murmurs next to me, hugging me around the waist. But I don’t rest until sleep tackles me in the middle of the night. 

* * *

In the morning, I wait outside in the hall as Essie dresses. I’m fighting a mild headache that pulses at my temple. I slept only a few hours last night and feel sluggish and antsy. I’m nervous for Essie to go back to Whitechapel, even with the extra people that will patrol the streets. But Evie swore to keep her safe.

The steady  _ clack _ of boots meeting the tiled floor breaks the silence in the hall. Evie turns the corner and my shoulders fall from my ears. I smile as I see her fight with herself, torn between rushing the close the distance between us and not wanting to seem too eager. It makes for an amusing sight as she walks quickly, but scales back once she realizes how fast she’s moving. 

“Good morning,” I say. 

She pushes her hood back until it falls between her shoulders. “Morning,” she says. Then, “How is Essie?”

“Fine. Better than yesterday for sure.”

“And you?”

“Tired,” I admit, rubbing my eyes. “I didn’t sleep well. Not because of any nightmares,” I quickly add. “I missed you.”

She bites her bottom lip and glances away. “I missed you too.”

“Ah what are the two lovers conspiring about this morning?” Evie and I jump as Essie opens the door to her room. She looks at us with a wide grin, her eyes drinking in the sight in front of her. 

“We’re not  _ conspiring _ ,” I say. 

Essie hums and beckons us to enter. Her eyes glance down at the gauntlets Evie wears, before looking back at my face. Once the door is shut, she rests her back against it. “So you’re really an assassin?” she asks. Evie nods. “And you think this treasure, this Excalibur, is worth all this?”

“No artifact is worth the blood of an innocent,” Evie answers. “But we can’t allow the Templars to take it for themselves. I’m truly sorry for what happened to you though. And for what happened to Cora.”

“Yes, she was a sweet girl.” Essie picks up a brush one of the nurses loaned to her and runs it through her hair. She keeps her back to us. Evie gives me a questioning look and reaches over to brush her hand with mine. “I don’t like losing people. I have a sister up in the north. And a brother who sails for the country. They’re part of my lifeline. Neva’s part of my lifeline too.” She turns and catches my eye, before looking at Evie. “And you’re part of that too now because you’re connected to her. Losing Cora is hard. Please don’t make me go through the grief of losing you or Genevieve. I won’t be able to bear it.”

Evie stalks forward with her shoulders back and a serious look on her face. With gentle hands, she clutches Essie’s shoulders and looks directly at her. “You won’t lose us. I promise.”

“Good.” She wipes at her eyes and chuckles to herself. “And we’ll all go on a vacation once you’re back. Hun’ admitted she’s a rich woman. I’m sure she can afford to take us somewhere nice.”

“My pockets  _ do _ have bottoms.”

“Oh hush. You can’t deny your former and current lover,” Essie says, swatting the air in my direction. 

Evie looks at me again, bemusement interwoven with her silent question. I’m not sure why the admission of my wealth is entertaining to her. I’ve caught glimpses of the inside of the safe on the train. 

A nurse inspects Essie one final time before giving her the okay to leave. Outside the hospital, a carriage waits near the curb. The two horses snort and paw at the street, impatient and ready to move. Two burly men, both dressed in Rook colors sit on the driver’s bench. But when they see the three of us approaching, the one without the reins jumps down and opens the carriage door for Essie. 

“These men will be your companions until we get this sorted out,” Evie says. 

“And I can trust them?” Essie asks, eyeing both men who tip their heads in greeting at her. 

“Yes,” Evie says. “They’ll escort you to a safe house that’s heavily guarded and fortified. Only a few people know where it’s located.”

“Does Genevieve know where it is?”

Evie looks at me, before turning back to Essie and shakes her head.

“It’s better this way. I’ll be less likely to check on you. Less likely to lead our enemies to you.” It makes sense, but I hate that it comes to this. But I know if Evie tells me where Essie is housed, I’ll want to slip out and check on her. I won’t risk that Templar getting close to her again. 

Essie looks at me, her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. It takes two steps for me to reach her and pull her into my arms. “I won’t let him harm you,” I whisper, my voice firm despite my fears. “We’ll find the sword and take him out along the way.” When I lean away, I fight the creeping morbidity that whispers this is the last time I’ll ever hug her. I can’t lose my nerve now. 

“Just be safe and come back soon.” She reaches up and kisses the side of my mouth. I offer my arm as she steps inside the carriage’s cabin and rests against the back cushion. 

“If you ever need to reach Genevieve, send a messenger,” Evie says. “You’re not completely cut off from each other.” 

The second Rook climbs back on the little bench, nods to Evie and I as the driver cracks the reins. Essie turns to look at me one final time and I flash my widest, most genuine smile. Despite the knot in my stomach and the inexplicable cold air on the back of my neck, I know I’ll see her again. 

When the carriage rolls out of view, Evie stands next to me and says, “I can tell you where she’s going.”

“No. I’ll trust that secret to you. I know she’s safe.”

“Do you want a moment?”

“Maybe later tonight.” 

She runs a finger across my palm. “Okay. In the meantime, The council wants to meet.”

“Of course they do.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. No doubt news of what happened in Whitechapel had reached them. 

“It’ll be quick,” she says. “We have work to do. And I fear not much time left.” 

“You would rush the council?” I ask, smirking. 

“For you? Absolutely.”

Something powerful pulls at my heart and I lose sight of any other words I wanted to say. Evie tells me to follow her and silently, I take my place at her side. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely comments! Seriously it makes my day whenever you all leave a comment! I never thought so many people would care about this fic and I hope I continue to make you happy as the story progresses! :)
> 
> Take care! See you next time!!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep trying to balance the hunt for Excalibur with the romance, but in my heart I just want to write about Genevieve and Evie falling in love. When I can, I'm going to have a chapter of these two being affectionate and flirtatious and flustered and it will be adorable! Enjoy this chapter!

With the Templar threat mostly eliminated and London under the protection of the Rooks with Jacob and Evie as their hidden leaders, the Council felt it was safe to return to the city. This saved Evie and I from the hour long carriage ride to the outskirts of London. But it meant I had less time to mentally prepare for this sudden meeting. 

(Though Evie bought some time for us when she suggested we return to the train so I can change into fresh clothing.) 

We exit the train at Victoria station amid crowds of smartly dressed men and women donning the finest materials imported from Paris. I squint at the bright sun as Evie leads us to neat rowhomes with manicured lawns and neatly trimmed shrubbery. 

The Council now resides in a small, but opulent manor with a large lawn and perfectly green grass. A brick gate runs around the perimeter, separating it from the neighboring homes and we pass under a brick archway with a wooden gate. There’s no movement in any of the windows and the interior looks clean, but dark. The front door opens before Evie knocks and a young woman, somewhere in her mid-teens, allows us to enter. Somewhere inside, a fire pops in the hearth, but that’s the only noticeable sound. 

“The Council will be with you momentarily,” the woman says. It’s warm inside, but she wears her hood over her head and the only part of her face I can see is a light brown, round chin. Without another word, she escorts us to a room with a sofa, armchair and a small desk and slides the doors shut behind her. I sink into the sofa and Evie gracefully plants herself next to me. 

“I haven’t kissed you today.”

Evie chuckles softly. “That seems like a minor concern.”

“Trivial, I know,” I agree. “Yet it feels like the most important thing right now because I fear our time may end before I’m ready. Essie nearly died and I don’t remember the last time we hugged before today. And Cora….last time I saw her, I brushed her off without really paying much attention to her.”

She’s quiet for a while and I fully expect a mild lecture from her. Maybe with some finger wagging as she chastises me for being morose and consumed with thoughts of failure or death. 

Her hand settles on my knee and she leans over, kissing me softly on the lips. 

“I have no plans of leaving you,” she says. Our eyes are locked together and I see brown flakes dispersed among the green of her irises. “But you’re right. We should cherish more of this.” 

Heat pulls in the pit of my stomach when she kisses me again. Her hand twitches on my knee. When she leans away, I groan and keep my eyes shut as I ride a wave of arousal that leaves my almost lightheaded. But I shake my head to clear those thoughts. Being in front of the Council is always unnerving. No reason to add to my nervousness because I’m consumed with intimate images of Evie and I. 

She keeps her hand on my knee, even when the young adept returns and announces that the Council is ready for us. Evie squeezes my knee.  _ For luck _ I imagine her saying. She follows after the adept, while I bring up the rear. We climb a series of stairs to the highest level and walk down a carpeted hallway with cherry wood paneling on the wall. Outside the wide windows, I spot London moving as if unbothered or unaware of the secret war being planned within these walls. 

“Through here.” The adept stops in front of a set of double doors and stands to the side to let us pass. We step into a large room with shelves that reach towards the ceiling and cover every wall. In the middle of the ceiling is a circular window and highlighted by the pale sunlight, specks of dust float in the air. Towards the back of the room is a set of stone steps that lead to a small landing with long tables, overturned benches. Tankards, tipped on their sides, litter the tables’ surfaces and sheets of parchment sit next to inkwell and pens. 

And there, directly in the middle of the room, is a long wooden table with a set of empty chairs on one side and the Council directly across. 

Evie bows. I cross my arms. 

“A woman is dead. A Templar and his lackeys are loose through the city, free to terrorize without repercussion. And you are not closer to finding Excalibur today than you were weeks ago when first given this mission.” Master Assassin Germaine, seated in the middle, frowns at us, placing her elbows on the table and bridging her fingers. “Tell us why we shouldn’t hand this off to someone else.”

A chill runs down my spine. I never imagined the Council would attempt to pull us off this mission. Had this option appeared sooner, maybe I’d argue in favor of giving it to another brother. But that Templar hurt Essie and killed Cora. I refuse to hand his death to someone else. 

“We don’t possess Excalibur, true,” Evie says, glancing quickly at me. I nod, accepting that she’s better equipped to speak to the Council right now. “But that doesn’t mean we haven’t been hard at work. Rooks patrol the city. My brother and Mr. Green watch from the rooftops. Genevieve and I have narrowed down the list of potential vaults. We’ll find the sword soon.”

“And how many more people must die before you do?” My eyes snap to Hinds. He looks almost bored with this, the question leaking out in a languid manner like his thoughts are elsewhere. He fixes his blue eyes on me, killing any retort I want to make. 

“None, if we’re lucky,” Evie says. Her hand twitches and I remind myself not to reach for her. Not in front of the Council. If they see the intimacy between us, they’ll use that as reason to hand this mission off. 

Assassin Light clears his throat and runs a wrinkled hand through his hair. “For now, our vote is to keep you on this hunt.”

“Then why are you wasting our time with this?” I say before I can catch myself. 

The old man raises a brow. “To warn you that we’re watching. We just got London back-” Evie, Jacob, Henry and the Rooks ‘got London back.’- “But if the Templars sense any fraction within our guild, they’ll come down hard on us and the city.”

“Find Excalibur. Soon,” Germaine says. “Bring it back here. Eliminate that Templar as well and reinforce our watch over the city.”

“If you can,” Hinds mutters from the side of his mouth. Besides me, Evie stiffen, glancing back and forth between me and the master assassin. The other Council members turn towards Hinds, all of them displaying various levels of disappointment, annoyance and frustration. But Hinds doesn’t see any of this. He sits straighter in this seat and rests his arms on the table. “We have our own ears and eyes in London. We’ve heard of your encounter with this man. Of your inability to strike him down.”

“I was unarmed.”  _ You prick _ . “And outnumbered.”

“We’ve all been outnumbered before and yet we survived.”

“Hinds,” Germaine hisses. “What are you doing?”

“Your parents were the best this guild ever had,” he says, ignoring the woman to his right. “They could have had my seat on the Council or Harpe’s, if not for their untimely death. You are their child and yet you’re not even a hollow imitation of what they once were.”

“Thomas, stop it!” Germaine says, her voice dripping with frustration. Evie steps closer, ready to spring into action. 

I don’t understand what’s happening or why. Why is he trying to get a rise out of me? Why is he succeeding? His words cut into a part of me, that old part that once desired to be an assassin like my parents. And that pain oozes out, boiling into a rage that I’m struggling to stamp down. 

There’s another part of me, that frightened, orphaned child, who sees the truth in his words. He’s right. I’m nowhere close to what my parents were. I can’t even touch the vision they had for me. I hate it, but Hinds is the one person who is telling the truth. 

Assassin Light leans forward and looks down the table. “We have a consensus. Genevieve is allowed to stay.”

“We have a consensus, yes,” Hinds says. “Though don’t be fooled. I can easily change my mind. Act with conviction or step aside. We have no need for weak willed shadows.”

“With respect,” Evie begins, “Genevieve has proven herself capable countless times.”

“Yet, you must speak for her.”

“I speak for myself,” I say. I roll my shoulders to relieve the tension that’s built up in the few seconds since this exchange first began. “And I can say that I’ve given into cowardice in the past. I’ve fled when I should have fought. It’s my fault Cora is dead. It’s my fault my parents are gone. I’ll carry that for the rest of my life. But I’m committed to finding that sword, for no other reason than to deposit it in your hands and never glance at your faces again. So, I sense that we’re done and Evie and I will return to our mission. Keep your watch from a distance and don’t bother us again.”

I turn on my heel to retreat before the first tears can fall. They’re born of anger and my desire to acquaint Hinds with my fists. Much to my surprise, Evie follows close behind, not even pausing to bid the Council goodbye. We march out of the room, trudge down the stairs and reach the manor’s exterior. I shut my eyes at the sunlight on my face, smiling softly when I sense Evie next to me. 

“I fear if you stick with you, I’ll ruin your chances of one day making it onto the Council,” I say. 

“I’m okay with that.” She pulls a handkerchief from a side pocket and passes it to me. “I’d rather stay with you. You’re much prettier to look at than any of them.” 

Despite the wild beating of my heart and the tightness in my gut, I laugh and dab at the corners of my eye. Glancing towards one of the windows, I see a shadow, obscured behind a curtain. “We have eyes on us.”

Evie touches my forearm. “We’ll give them a good show then.”

“When you say things like that, I wonder who is truly the mischievous twin.”

She winks at me and my knees tremble. My emotions ride the tide, pushing me back to a place of desire. “Come on,” she says, stuffing the cloth back into her pocket. “Let’s eat and have a drink before getting back to work. And you deserve a good rest after the past few days.”

I want to hold her hand or slip my arm around her shoulders; I want to feel some part of her touching me while we walk. I’m acutely aware of how much she steadies me. How a single glance or a sudden smile brings my heart rate down and lifts my spirits. In those quiet moments, when I dream about the future, she’s always there. Nestled in a chair, reading before a fire, sleeping next to me, picnicking with me in a park, crossing the ocean to meet Grandfather and to pay our respect at my parents’ grave.

I’ve never been in love before. I wouldn’t recognize the signs. But whatever fluttering I feel in my stomach and heart every time I look at Evie is pleasantly unfamiliar. And I think it’s the start of love. 

“Come on,” she says, looking over her shoulder with that warm smile that I adore. 

Yeah, this is it. I jog until we’re shoulder to shoulder. We can’t openly touch while out in London. But her hand grazes against mine, too often for it to be a mistake. When I look down at her, she smiles again, her nose wrinkling. And we walk to the station, our hands swinging by our sides, my skin meeting the leather of her gauntlets over and over and over again. 

* * *

We’ve narrowed the list of locations down to three names and when Henry suggests Evie, Jacob and I pick at random, we naturally point to separate slips of paper breaking any potential majority. 

“That won’t work,” he says, shaking his head. 

After a quick meal and that promised drink, Evie and I returned to the train where Henry and Jacob lounged before going out on their nightly patrols. I explained the sudden meeting with the Council and their threats. Jacob scowl grew the longer my story went, while Henry sat next to him quiet and contemplative as ever. When I finished and Evie returned from changing out of her usual attire, Henry rose and looked at the list of locations. 

“We need to focus then,” he said, running a hand down his chin. “Not just to appease the Council, but to put this all behind us. Luckily, I’ve learned some things about this Templar.”

His name is Alexander Downey, a legacy member of the Templar Knights. His mother was apparently a formidable knight who clashed with assassins often. He has an older brother, but little is known about him. Whether the brother is involved with the Templars or lives an unassuming life remains to be answered. 

“We don’t know where Alexander’s safe house is. Likely somewhere outside of London,” Henry says. 

“It has to be large enough to accommodate his followers,” Evie adds. 

“There are hundreds of places where they can hide. London is growing every day,” Jacob says. 

I shake my head and pace in front of the corkboard. “True as that statement is, we know he’s trailing me. Somehow he has eyes on me. So when we find Excalibur, he’ll reveal himself.”

“I don’t like the idea of going in blind like that,” Evie says. I’m not surprised at her pushback. And I’m prepared for it. 

“We won’t be blind,” I argue, twisting partially towards her. “We know he’ll appear. We can prepare for him.”

She narrows her eyes slightly, but glances away. 

“I agree with Evie,” Henry says. “We should at least have an idea of how much men he has at his disposal, how much ammo he has, what weapons he uses. Jacob and I will see what else we can uncover. Find the vault, but don’t go until we have an understanding of what Alexander is capable of.” 

I nod, only to appear he and Evie, who is currently staring at me like she knows I’m begrudgingly agreeing to this. Henry and Jacob announce they’re going out on patrols and Evie and I wish them a safe night, before we retreat to her private car. I kick off my boots, sighing as I’m free to wiggle my toes and flop down on her bed which I’ve missed.

“Henry’s right, you know?” I hear the exasperation in her voice. Without looking at her, I can see the downturn of her lips, the knitted browns and tension held in her shoulders and back. 

“I know Evie,” I say, opening my arms. She waits long enough for me to feel an ounce of uncertainty, before dropping down on the bed and laying on top of me. “I’m not arguing against what you two are saying. I just don’t want to get lost in some chase for that man.” Partially because I’m still afraid to face him. But mostly because I want to find the sword and move on with my life. 

“Let Henry and Jacob hunt him down. But if we find the sword’s location,” I say, running my hands down her back, “we shouldn’t wait for the right moment to retrieve it. Especially when the Council is now breathing down our necks.”

“I don’t want you to shoulder this all alone.”

“I know Evie. I won’t.”

She shifts until she’s under the crook of my arm, with one of her arms slung across my stomach and her head on my shoulder. For a moment, we lay in silence, a moment that I cherish because it feels like a strong hug after a long separation. Evie touches me, idle brushes of her skin against mine, a finger tip grazing my jaw or tracing my lips, her nose nuzzling against my neck. I respond in kind, kissing her forehead, running down to her nose, drawing circles in her shoulder. There’s an electric charge when our lips touch, my body awakening to countless sensations as once. Everything feels heightened causing my skin to prickle. 

When Evie breaks our kiss, we both turn to lay on our sides and stare into each other's eyes. My hand rests on the dip in her hip, my thumb pressing down on her shirt. “What will we do once this mission is over?” I ask. I’m smiling at her, but now that I’ve asked it, the question feels like a blade against my throat. Of course we promise to never leave the other. But was she saying that to ease my fear during the mission? Or were her feelings the same as mine and I was just too flustered and awe-stricken to notice? 

Why did I ask this?

“I believe you promised Essie and I a lavish vacation,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I personally would like to visit Greece.”

“Greece? Why there?”

“Warm beaches. Delicious food. The open countryside. Ancient ruins.”

“All the things you love.”

She looks at me and glances away. “Yes. Just imagine us out there soaking in the last bit of sunlight from a balcony with the remnants of our meal behind us. And we gaze out at buildings that the Athenians built or walk along the roads they used when traveling the lands.” Her chest rises and falls from a wistful sigh. 

“I will start preparing for this, if only to see you happy.”

“I’m already happy,” she says, looking at me from the corner of her eye. “I don’t need Greece when you’re right here.”

She kisses me before I can make a smart retort and I feel her grin against me. And I don’t really care. She can shut me up with a kiss whenever she wants. Especially when she’s wrapping a strong arm around my shoulder, pulling me until I’m on top of her and her hands dig into my shirt, drag down my back. I fist the bedding because I feel a heat passing between us. And while I’m excited to touch more of her, I don’t want to push her boundaries. I tell myself that this is nice for now. Which it is. Her soft lips and her quiet whimpers and her curious tongue drive me wild, sending my logical thoughts to the shadows. This is all so nice and all I ever want. 

I think about Greece. About viewing the sunsets from a balcony. Trailing Evie as she marvels at the ancient architecture and sculptures on display. Of kissing on the beach late at night while the dark waves softly crash against the shore. Our days are filled with adventures and our nights are filled with caresses and tenderness and love. It will be our first trip together, the first of many. 

No Excalibur. 

No Council or Templars in the shadows. 

No vaults. 

No death.

Just Evie and I. Together. 

As we’re meant to be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I appreciate any comments you may have! You all are the best! 
> 
> Take care!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are going to be rough. But some fluff will follow! Enjoy!

It’s late at night and a sole candle flickers on a table next to the bed, the only light in the room as I thumb through my parents’ journal. Evie is fast asleep, her head against my chest and her arm loose over my hips. I sit with my back against the headboard and must constantly check the covers to make sure they don’t slip from Evie’s shoulder because of the odd angle at which she lays. 

The clock on the mantle chimes three times and though my eyes are heavy and my parents’ scrawl is beginning to blur, my body is wired from the energy that first shook me from my earlier nightmare. I hoped they were behind me. But tonight Essie’s body joined my parents’ in that cold vault and I cried and cried until a heavy hand pressed over my mouth and a blade plunged into my back. I woke with sweat on my body, my clothes and the covers sticking to me. Thankfully, I didn’t twitch or stir too much while asleep, thus never disturbing Evie. After that, I tried to fall back asleep. I counted down from thirty, took deep breaths, I hugged Evie closer to me, willed her body’s heat to soften my walls and ease my worries. 

But nothing worked. 

And instead of laying awake and miserable for the rest of the night, I decided to read my parents’ journal in the hopes it would lead me somewhere. 

Evie grumbled and clung to my nightgown when I first climbed out of bed to light a candle, but her frown returned to a sleepy smile when I settled next to her again. Her brown hair is braided loosely and sits on her shoulder, though fine wisps of hair stand freely and tickle my skin. 

I hold the journal close to my face to better see. I can tell I’m coming to the end of their thoughts, despite the stack of empty pages that remain. I consider filling them myself. Finish this journal and store it with the others at Grandfather’s home. There would be a disconnect of course, a large gap in time and subject matter. While my parents were interested in plants, their healing properties, fighting techniques and musings about the Creed, I would fill this with glimpses into my days, memorable moments (mostly from Evie) and sketches of the cities I visit. 

I was never one for journaling or record keeping. My finances are handled by Mr. Gaines, a local banker in the city. And any important documents are kept in a lockbox back in America that my grandfather and I can access. I didn’t understand the importance of writing down my thoughts in a journal when I have no one to pass them down to.

But as I read more from my parents, as I’m introduced to their deep inner thoughts, their fears, their hopes and dreams, I feel a new connection to them. They’re truly gone. But I can still hear Father’s voice in the short poems he wrote about Mother. Or I smell the flour on her hands and hear the crack of an egg over the pan when I read Mother’s recipe for my favorite cake. And it brings tears to my eyes, which I wipe away. My parents started a conversation in their journals and now I can talk back to them even if they can never read it. 

I want to cling to this last, lingering connection to them. 

Evie inhales deeply and tucks her head under my chin. I nuzzle my nose in her hair and kiss the crown of her head. 

“What are you doing awake?” she asks, her voice scratchy and rough from sleep, her eyes still shut against the bare flicker of light. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” I admit. 

“Is everything alright?” Evie stretches her legs under the covers and plants her hand on my stomach. I hug her around the shoulders to keep her from pushing up to look into my face. I kiss her forehead again. 

“It’s fine,” I whisper. “Go back to sleep. I’ll turn in soon. I just want to read a few more pages.”

She stiffens and immediately relaxes when I kiss her hair again. Evie twists up and presses her lips against mine. “Alright,” she says, a slight slur as she starts to drift off to sleep again. “Good night my darling.”

My cheeks warm. “Good night. Sleep well.”

She nuzzles against my chest and a few moments later, I hear her near quiet snores. When she’s settled again, I flip back to the page I was on and continue reading. Glancing at the dates, I realize I’m drawing closer to our first hunt for Excalibur. There are scribbles of common lore around the sword and previous owners. Names of castles, former kings and knights, dates for battles where the sword made an appearance. My parents kept a running list of locations, but names were scratched off or checked off one by one. There’s one name, Glen Brook Castle, that sounds familiar and has no mark next to it. I fold the corner of that page, make a mental note to research it in the morning. 

The next page is a scribbled mess. Notes on top of other notes. Slanted letters with wide loops that lean too far left or right. It’s hard to decipher. But it feels important. My hands tremble and my breathing becomes ragged and shallow, short puffs of air. I chew on my bottom lips, trying to decide if I should move on from this page or try to make sense of it.

I pause. Something towards the bottom of the page catches my eye. The only coherent thought here. I read it. The information refuses to stick to my mind. I read it again. My heart rate picks up and Evie stirs again. I close my eyes, take deep breaths in an effort to calm down so I don’t wake her. 

When I open my eyes again, I focus on a dark corner of the train and picture my father or mother sitting cross-legged with an inkwell near their knee and a pen gripped tight in their hands as they write this short passage. Where was I that night? Was I tucked in bed, oblivious to the common fear my parents’ shared? Were we near that vault, that mausoleum that haunts me night after night? Did Mother or Father look to me before writing this chilling message? Did they want me to find it? Did they mean to warn me? 

Fuck.

I look down at the journal again, force myself to read their words, despite the way it lashes against my heart. 

_ Eagle, eyes of ice, circles from above _

_ Snake, scales of red and black steel, watches from shadows _

_ The Eagle was never part of the Creed, was always on the side of the snake _

_ Talons and fangs will strike as one, as brothers _

_ The long night awaits us _

_ Yet Genevieve will survive when we both fall _

_ I’m sorry. But it’s the only way.  _

I close the journal, set it neatly on the side table instead of tossing it across the room like I want. My hands shake, a violent tremble that threatens to spread throughout my body. But I work hard. I squeeze my eyes shut, push back those last moments with my parents. I suck in air, but it escapes in a crack, in a near sob that I muffle with my hand. I can’t go to sleep. Not after that. 

My parents knew. 

I need to scream. To break something against the wall. I want to drown myself in whiskey and beer. I want to pace the length of the train to exhaust my body and mind. But it will wake Evie and the last thing I want or need right now is her awake and alert, ready to spring into action on my behalf. 

I think over those words again, say them slowly in my mind. In the end, I’m left with three conclusions. 

One, my parents knew they were going to die. This stings and I feel a flare of anger at them. They left me. They knowingly left me behind. But I shake my head and feel guilty at my anger. They knew they would die and did all they could to make sure I stayed alive. I always felt guilty for that night, but now it’s molding into pain and confusion and utter hopelessness because I understand that even if I acted differently, my parents would have died. 

I shake my head, box up that grief. It will have to wait until this mission is over. 

Two, the vault was a trap. Was it always empty? I think so. Knowing they were about to die, my parents would never knowingly hand over Excalibur or disclose the sword’s location, even if coerced. Did my parents know the sword’s true location? Had they taken it to their graves? This causes a headache and I rub my temples with two fingers. 

My final conclusion is the most chilling and the least surprising. There’s a traitor in the guild. I don’t know how long they’ve worn their blade or why they want to betray the Creed. But they’re well hidden, which is frightening. And if I’m correctly interpreting my parents’ message, the traitor is aligned with the Templars. 

_ Eagle, eyes of ice _ ….Blue. Or a pale grey, I guess. London has many hidden eyes. Countless blue and grey ones. 

It would explain how Downey knew to target me in the park that day. Someone, a Brother, has abandoned their creed and is feeding the Templars information about me and this mission. That means there are two people to blame for Cora’s death and Essie’s assault. Two lives I must claim when it’s time. 

My thoughts are interrupted when Evie hums. Blinking back into the room, I realize in my daze, I’ve been massaging her shoulder. I look at her, comforted by the fact that her eyes are green. She’s not the traitor this I’m sure. 

Twisting to the side, I blow out the candle and slide down, pulling her down with me. She shifts and adjusts without waking. I hug her tightly for the rest of the night and swim through the wave of questions that crash in my mind. 

A traitor in the guild. Another set of eyes watching from the shadows. Another blade to worry about. 

In the end, I wonder if Excalibur is truly worth all this misery.

* * *

Henry, Jacob, Evie and I meet to discuss our progress. But I’ve heard little of what they said. I look around, make a note of eye color. Henry, brown eyes. Jacob, green. Evie, green and even if they were blue or grey, I know she’d never betray me. Several Rooks pass through the car. Brown eyes. Black. Deep grey. I stiffen and wait as the woman passes through. 

Age is a factor I must consider as well. This happened ten years ago. Evie, Henry and Jacob were around my age, far too young to work with a Templar to kill my parents. The traitor would need to be in their thirties or later. That barely narrows things down. 

“Does that sound good to you, Genevieve?”

I picture Downey and shudder. He’s older than me. Likely in his thirties or forties. He may be the snake. But the eagle could be anyone. A Brother in their thirties or older with grey or blue eyes. That could account for half of London. I need to find out….

“Genevieve?”

“Huh?” 

Henry, Evie and Jacob all stare at me with varying levels of concern etched on their faces. Henry is the first to speak. “Did you hear anything we just said?”

“No,” I admit. “My mind’s elsewhere.”

“Are you alright?” Jacob asks. Evie is noticeably quiet, but I feel her gaze on me. 

It would be easy to lie. I could hide behind my lack of sleep last night. Or my fears over keeping Essie safe. I could say I’m still afraid to confront Downey or that I hate how the Council, and Hinds in particular, embarrassed me yesterday. Henry and Jacob would buy my lies and Evie could be convinced later tonight. 

But is that the right thing to do?

My parents kept the truth from me and now I’m constantly afraid of getting too close to people for fear that I’ll lose them. How many times did they lie to me, assure me everything would work out, when they knew their final days were on the horizon? 

I don’t want to do that to these three, especially Evie. I can’t lie to them about this. 

“I stayed up late last night,” I say slowly. “I was reading through my parents’ journal, looking for information and...and I-I came across a page. I….There’s a traitor in the Brotherhood.”

“What?” the assassins cry in unison. I face them and pull out the journal, praying that I made the right choice. I find the passage and hand the book to Evie, pointing to the section. She reads it and goes pale, before handing to Henry. Jacob leans over to read it as well and when they’re done, Henry closes the book and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“I had my suspicions,” he mutters. 

“And you never said anything?” Jacob asks.

“I had nothing substantial,” Henry says. “Questions here. Concerns there. Before your and Evie’s arrival, London was in a bad way. And according to rumors, other major cities were slowly falling under Templar control, though it was always met with resistance from the Assassins. But it never made much sense. Eventually, most of the other Assassins and the Council fled London, while I stayed behind. I was caught up with making sure the people didn’t fall too far under Starrick’s control, that I never thought to pursue my concerns.”

I chew the inside of my cheek and glance at Evie. We share a sad smile and I want nothing more than to hug her. 

“What do we do?” Jacob asks. He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it up. “How can we move forward? What do we need to do?”

Henry shakes his head. “I’m not sure.”

Jacob turns to his sister, who hangs her own head at a loss. He looks at me with a pained confusion in his eyes like a downtrodden pet and I had no answers either. All I have is my anger. Anger at my parents. At this traitor in the ranks. At myself for failing to uncover this truth sooner. 

“Genevieve,” Henry calls. He opens his eyes slowly, blinks several times at the ceiling and I sense him wrestling with a question, before arriving at a decision. He stands and crosses the room until he’s in front of me. He pats my cheek several times, his eyes shining from unshed tears. From the corner of my eye, I see Evie and Jacob share a concerned look. But Henry doesn’t notice or comment. “I hate asking, but we need to know exactly what happened that night. Something may be there in the details. Something you’ve overlooked. I-I’m sorry my friend.”

“It’s alright,” I say, swallowing back something heavy and fragile. I knew it would come to this eventually. Maybe that’s why I relived that night in my dreams, turning it over and over in my mind. Sooner or later, we’d need to address it. I would need to tell my full story. 

Henry pats my cheek one final time and I slide away. I settle in a chair that faces one of the train car’s windows and try to look out at the cityscape. We sit in silence and for the first time ever, I realize how much I value these three people. They’re my friends. I cherish our connection. Is this what my parents wished for me? Is this what they envisioned my future would be like after their death? Is that why they worked hard to make sure I lived?

I miss them. But I’m grateful to them. 

I twist towards the rest of the group, but there in the corner of my vision is the passing landscape. “We arrived in London,” I say. Ten years ago. 

It feels like yesterday. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got emotional writing this. Jeez. So a definite CW for death, mentions of blood and grief. 
> 
> Also it's a long chapter because I didn't want to split it into multiple chapters.

When we arrive in London, night has fully set in and stars glint and twinkle in the sky. The carriage rolls to a stop in front of a tall brick building. Most of the windows are dark since the hour is late, but there is the glow of candlelight in some of the windows. Mother shakes my shoulder to wake me. I’ve been awake for the past thirty or so minutes, though my eyes were shut and I rested against her arm while listening to people talk outside. But my parents sat in silence from the time we entered the carriage until now. 

Cracking open my eyes, I stretch my arms, cracking the joints while the carriage’s doors swing open. Father leans over to tussle my head. “Come on. Let’s get you in bed.”

“I’m not tired,” I say, sticking out my bottom lip and crossing my arms. 

“You are,” Mother says. Her thin fingers squeeze my shoulders. “It’s been a long day and we could all use a rest.” Stooping, she steps around me to climb out of the cabin and stands on the cobbled street. Light from a lamppost shines a pale yellow on the street and her dark brown skin appears golden. She tips her neck side to side, cracking the bones. She extends a hand to me and I grab it, my fingers wrapping around and touching the cool metal of her bracer. Mother and Father rarely travel with their gauntlets on. I thought about saying something when we were on the ship crossing the Atlantic, but brushed my concern off. 

When they first mentioned our hunt for Excalibur, I was elated. My grin stretched across my face and I swore that I’d help as much as I could. I wouldn’t stand in their way. My parents warned that it would be dangerous. The sword is valuable. 

“It can compel people. Draw in innocents to fight for a cause they may not believe in,” Father said that day. He met my eyes as he spoke, his jaw set, his mouth in a straight line. Even the usual playfulness in his black eyes were gone, replaced with a deadly seriousness. “We’ll all be careful on this mission.”

I gulped and nodded, but inside I was reeling from the news. Excalibur. Arthur’s sword. The one he wielded into battle. I would touch it soon. 

Father is last to climb out the carriage and he reaches inside his cloak to pull out his wallet. He tips the driver well and places a hand on Mother’s back, before bending over to collect our bags. I carry my own luggage, a small suitcase that holds extra clothing, some books and my own gauntlet. Behind us, I hear the gentle lapping of water against brick and wood.

The hotel’s interior is warm and decorated with deep reds and bright golds. A chandelier hangs overhead, the crystals glinting as they catch the light from the burning candles. A doorman, dressed in a fine three-piece suit, ushers us to the reception where several workers stand behind the counter. Father drops his bag and walks to the counter to check in. I marvel at the furniture, benches with plush velvet seats, wingback chairs in front of a fireplace, multi-tiered chairs adorned with glasses and empty buckets and feel a sense of pride that my parents can afford such luxurious lodgings. 

Father returns with two sets of keys. “Our rooms are ready and a meal will be brought up shortly.” My eyes widen. Rooms? Separate? That never happens. “I ordered us some brandy too. Just to help ease the nerves.”

We climb four sets of stairs, our footsteps muffled by the carpeting, and travel down a wide hallway. The sconces light our path and soon we stand in front of a set of doors at the end of the hallway. Father hands one key to me. 

“Enjoy,” Mother says, grinning. 

The room is a modest size, though larger than my own bedroom back home. A rug stretches across the wooden floor, nearly touching the four corners. A poster bed with a sheer canopy sits under a wide window and across from the bed is a squat dresser with three drawers. A high-back chair sits catty-corner opposite the bed and a small wood stove takes up the other corner. It’s vent is pressed into the wall and I imagine the smoke from the fire escaping through one of the hotel’s many chimneys. 

I rush to set my luggage on the bed and pull off my pants and blouse before slipping into a nightgown that reaches down to my ankles. There’s a knock on the door just as I adjust my gown. Mother leans against the frame, arms crossed loosely over her chest and she looks over my room, whistling lowly. 

“Pretty cozy in here,” she says. My parents are both close to six feet in height, but I’m growing nearly every day. By the end of my thirteenth year, I’m sure I’ll reach their shoulders and will meet or surpass their height by the end of next year. For now, I must tilt my head to look them in the eye. 

Father walks in, carrying a tray of food. My mouth waters at the smell of chicken and mashed potatoes.“Eat and then get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll leave early and ride for a village close to the vault. It’ll take up the day and we won’t have the luxury of stopping often.” 

I frown, shuddering at the thought of the saddle burn I’ll be left with by tomorrow night. 

Father kisses my forehead, while Mother presses her lips against my cheek. “Good night, sweetheart,” he says. 

I wish them both a good night and turn towards my meal. After eating, I crawl under the covers, ready to sleep. Through the thin walls, my parents’ voices drift into my room. Not loud enough to hear what they’re saying. But enough to know that they’re there on the other side. I close my eyes, smiling to myself and wait for the sun to slant across my face come tomorrow. 

We leave our suitcases at the inn. Father wakes first. He dresses, eats a quick breakfast and wakes me. I squint and want to bury myself under the covers. But he shakes my shoulder again. 

“Get up. I’m off to get some horses,” he says. “Your mother should be getting dressed now. Be ready when I return.”

“Yes, Father.”

He smooths down my hair and chuckles. “See you in a bit.”

When I climb out of bed, I’m met with a cool chill that settled in the room during the night. That’s enough motivation to force me to dress quickly. I pull on long trousers, stuffing the ends into my leather boots. I wear an undershirt, a button up and a waistcoat. My assassin’s cloak comes on last. The ends reach down to my waist, the fabric clean, light and resistant to rain, snow or the cold. It’s a deep black, with gold stitching around the cuffs and the guild’s emblem on the back. It’s similar to the cloak my parents’ wear, though Father’s has holes and tears in it, patched together with stray pieces of cloth. And Mother’s falls down to her legs. 

My gauntlet goes on last. The blade is made from a dark steel and is attached to a leather bracer that fits snuggly on my arms. There are no markings or decorative pieces like on my parents’ blades. But after this mission, I’m sure my parents’ will be inclined to commission a finer blade for me. 

Mother and I share breakfast in her room. The hotel’s kitchen prepared a large platter of eggs, fried ham, greens and toast that we pick from. When we finish eating, Father returns, carrying several side saddle bags on his shoulders which we use to store some clothing and other supplies we want to travel with. 

We climb into our saddles and guide the horses away from the hotel. I stare longingly at it, already yearning for the night I can climb onto the feather soft mattress. 

“The day will be long,” Father says, slowing his horse until it’s next to mine. “But we’ll rest and recover tomorrow. Then set off for the vault.” 

“Can we explore London after the mission?” I ask. “If there’s time.” We would need to return to America eventually. And it’s unwise to keep Excalibur in our possession for long. It will need to go to one of the guild’s regional councils for safekeeping. But this is my first time in this city and I want nothing more than to view it from one of its highest points. 

“I’ll see what we can do.” Father’s grip tightens on the reins and he stares ahead. I wonder if I’ve upset him in some way. Or maybe he’s still tired from our long journey. But before I can say anything, he leans over and yanks my hood over my head, chuckling. “Race you to the city’s end. Ready. Set. Go.”

He takes off just as I manage to push my hood off. 

“He’s off to a good start,” Mother says, smiling. 

I dig my heels into my horse’s side and follow the sounds of hooves pounding against the stone. 

* * *

By day’s end, my backside and legs are sore from the leather saddle and I walk with a noticeable waddle. We’ve reached a small town. More a village really. The homes are made from weathered stones with thatched roofs that are partially green from wild vines snaking up the walls. Thin clouds of smoke flow from the stone chimneys. 

Near the back of the village, nestled close to a grove of trees is a tavern and accompanying inn. People mill around outside, some seated on wooden benches with beers in their hands. They tip their heads in our direction as we make our way inside. I shift the weight on my shoulders, my entire body aching for something comfortable to settle onto. Just like last night, we book separate rooms next to each other and our meals are delivered to us. 

Mother tells me to leave my belongings in my room, splash water on my face and join them for dinner in their quarters. I do as instructed, rushing through the tasks and barely noting the furniture inside.

For dinner, we eat bowls of beef and barley stew and sop up the broth with chunks of bread. My parents drink from a bottle of red wine and to my amazement, pour a glass for me. I’ve had alcohol before, but usually during special occasions. Birthdays. Funerals. Celebrations after a mission. When Father slides the glass towards me, I don’t question him. The wine is bitter, yet smooth. Warmth spreads through my body and I chance another sip, letting it sit on my tongue for a second before swallowing. 

“How is it?” he asks. 

“Fine,” I say. 

“Probably more of a beer drinker,” Mother comments, smiling. 

Father shrugs. “Probably.”

“Can we order that tomorrow night?” I ask, looking back and forth between them. 

“Sure, why not,” Mother says. 

It’s a strange night. There’s little conversation after that. My parents continue to glance at each other, passing loaded looks. I’m used to it. There are aspects of the mission they never divulge. Instead they let me uncover the truth for myself. They give me space to come to my own decisions, to grow into an assassin I could be proud of. Though so far, none of my decisions have held any meaningful weight. Still, the freedom is there. And I learn to love it, knowing that my parents will be there to catch me when I need them. 

After our meal, I yawn into my hand and want to stretch across the table to sleep. It’s infinitely more comfortable than the saddle after several hours. But Father flicks my nose with his finger, grinning widely at me. 

“Off to bed,” he says. “We get to sleep in a bit tomorrow.”

“But there are preparations to be done before the vault,” Mother adds.

“Alright. Alright,” I say before finishing the last of my wine. I shiver from the heat. “Good night.”

The next morning, we split off to run through our preparations quickly. Mother takes one of the horses to scout the land around the vault. She’s gone most of the day. Father looks for a shop to buy strips of dried meat, basic medical supplies and other provisions for tomorrow. I’m tasked with checking on the remaining horses, making sure they’re fed and given plenty of water and are comfortable. According to my parents, the vault is a simple twenty to thirty minute ride from the village. That’s all the information they’ve given me and though I’ve asked a few times for more details, they both stay quiet. 

By mid-afternoon, Father returns to the inn with our necessary supplies and checks on me in the stable. He whistles to catch my attention and sports a wide grin when I finally turn towards him. 

“Let’s spar for a bit,” he says casually. 

I suppress a groan and follow him into the woods. My parents gradually eased me into the life of an assassin. From a young age, I learned how to trail people without being caught, how to leap from great heights and scale the sides of buildings. My first leap of faith was nothing short of exhilarating, that wind pushing back against my entire body as I sailed through the air towards the pile of leaves at the bottom of the training tower. I learned about the Isu and their artefacts that Templars and Assassins fight over. And I learned about the origins of our group from the Hidden Ones out of Ancient Egypt to the Brotherhood now. In truth, I looked forward to the day when my parents trusted me to go out on my own, to make my own kills and work with assassins around the world. 

But the hardest part of my training is sparring. Especially when I’m against my father. 

He takes us to a small clearing that I’m sure he found earlier in the day for this reason. Patches of sunlight slip in through the gaps between the swaying leaves and a gentle breeze blows around us. Father peels off his cloak and waistcoat and rolls up the sleeves of his undershirt. I toss my coat over a fallen log and stretch. 

“Let’s say five rounds. Winner gets three under their belt.”

“Okay.” I crouch and watch carefully as he cracks his knuckles. Mother has speed and agility. Father has speed and power. I have mildly quick reflexes that keep me from walking away with a broken nose and busted lip. 

Father rushes forward and I have just enough time to bring my arms to my side, blocking his kick. Though I’m pushed back. 

“Good,” he says smiling. “Getting better.”

He wins the first three rounds. The first win happened after I dropped my defenses in an attempt to attack, only to be grappled and swung on my back. The second time, he sweeps my legs from up under me and again I land on my backside. I thought I had a chance during the third round. I was fully warmed up and moving quickly around the small space. I managed to strike him in the chest with my fist and force him against a tree. But as I go in for the finishing blow, he grabs my arm, pulling me to him and holds me in place with his other arm around my neck. 

I tap his arm and he releases me with a chuckle. 

“You won,” I say over my shoulder. 

“Don’t be sour,” he says. “You’re getting better with time.” 

I take my coat and spread it out before laying on top. My hands rests on my stomach, rising and falling with the air I suck in. Father settles next to me, so close I can feel the residual heat from his body. 

“How are you feeling? Not too sore, I hope,” he says. 

I roll my shoulder, holding back a wince as I feel some tightness in the muscle. “It’s manageable. Should be better by tomorrow.” 

The wind shakes the tree branches. I watch as several leaves fall in a gently swooping motion down to the ground, landing inches from us. Inhaling and holding the air in my lungs, I shut my eyes and listen to the natural sounds around us. 

“Father?”

“Hm?”

“Can I lead the next mission?”

He rolls over to his side, props his head on his hand with his elbow pressed into the soft grass. He studies me for a long moment, his lips draw into a straight line. Finally, he glances up to the sky and the clouds. 

“I’ll have to ask your mother,” he says. He wipes his eyes and brushes his hands on his pants. “But I think you’ll be ready soon enough. Don’t be eager, though. You’ll have your time when it’s right.”

“It seems so far away.” Like a cat, I stretch my back and arms to the waning sunlight. 

“Not far enough.”

“Hm?”

Father blinks and shakes his head. “Don’t rush your future, Genevieve.”

I scoff, roll my eyes and sit up, crossing my legs at the ankles. “I know I have a lot left to learn,” I say. “But I feel like I’m ready.”

“Do you think your mother and I are holding you back?”

“No. The opposite.”

Father groans as he rises and I smile, imagining for a second that maybe my strikes hurt more than he let on. His heavy hand rests on my head. “We work as a family. Not because it’s the way of the Creed, but because we love each other. No one holds anyone back. We move together.”

I want to believe Father. But it’s hard to imagine their lives would be stuck at this slow pace if I wasn’t around, weighing down their cloaks, slowing the strike of their blades, forcing them to pause before taking their leaps of faith. If I was better, faster, stronger, then we’d be a lethal arm of the Brotherhood, able to defeat anyone who dared to threaten us or the guild. 

I push myself during our trainings, study the tenets of the Creed until I can recite them in my sleep. I yearn for the day I’m given my own hidden blade. I sketch it on scraps of paper, leaving it around the house for my parents to ‘discover.’ I keep track of other Assassins, in the hopes of apprencenticing with them in cities around the world. 

I want to evolve into the Assassin my parents see when they look at me.

Father’s hand cups the back of my neck. “Let’s go back. Your mother should be returning soon.” He stands and pulls me up. He throws an arm over my shoulder and I lean into the simple hug as we return to the inn. 

* * *

The day we’re to travel to the vault is a grey and dreary one with no hint of sunlight or warm breeze. Mother and Father were grim and silent as we packed our horses for the day, whispering often to the other, sneaking glances in my direction before quickly looking away when I turned to catch their eye. We leave most of our belongings in our room since the vault isn’t far and hopefully can be explored in a few hours. I imagine coming back to our warm rooms, filling our stomachs with stew and beer, before falling in bed, happy with the success of another mission. 

What will Excalibur look like? What type of sword would a king wield? What type of sword did the Isu create when their war first began? I’m bursting with questions and grin at the knowledge of being able to answer them in a few hours. 

I look down at my plain hidden blade. Simple leather. Sharpened steel. Bare of any accessories or markings that make it my own. Not like Mother and Father’s blades which are distinct and crafted to fit their arms and fighting styles. 

Maybe I can take inspiration from Excalibur when designing my own blade. 

Mother leans over in her saddle to whisper something in Father’s ear. I smile. They’ve always been playful and loving towards each other. Though I’ve never told them, I hope to share something similar with someone I love when I’m older. 

She slows her horse until we’re side by side. She adjusts her dark cloak on her shoulders and slides her hood back so I can clearly see her eyes. The whites have an unusual pink tinge to them, but before I can point it out, Mother asks how I’m feeling. 

“Well rested, I hope,” she says.

“I’m fine,” I say, straightening in my saddle. “How long do I have to wait before going in after you?”

Depending on the vault and the difficulty of the mission, my parents encourage me to remain patient and wait a length of time before entering. They clear the most treacherous traps, leaving behind ones that can cause minor bruises and cuts across my body if I’m not careful. 

“We haven’t decided yet,” Mother says. 

“You can trust me,” I say. “I’m getting better.”

“It’s not a lack of trust,” she says and I bite my tongue. “And we see your improvement every day, even in ways that you may not recognize right now. You make us proud in ways you can’t imagine.”

My face warms and the tips of my ears burn. My parents are familiar with compliments like our bodies are with the air in our lungs. And their words draw out a better version of myself. Whether they’re correcting my fighting stance or teaching a new piece of assassin history to me, they learn kind words are a better motivator than fear. 

But Mother’s words today are deeply earnest and I’ve done little to earn them. 

I stare ahead at the hard set in Father’s shoulders and squeeze the reins. “I just want to be useful.” I know it’s similar to the conversation with Father from yesterday and maybe I’m repeating it in a new way just to know for certain that I’m not weighing down my parents’ aspirations in some way. 

“Don’t entertain such worries,” Mother says. “Your value to us lies far outside how useful you are during missions. Don’t concern yourself with becoming the best assassin. That will come naturally and the world will be better for it. But focus on becoming who you want to be. That’s what we want most for you.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. How can being myself make things better? How will it matter in the war between Assassin and Templar? Is this a new lesson that they want me to learn?

Mother nods. “Yes, very sure. We want nothing more or nothing less than for you to grow into yourself.” When I sigh, she touches my shoulder. “Think about it, okay?”

I expect her to rejoin Father’s side, but she remains next to me as we ride from the little village to the vault. 

We reach a thick edge of a forest with trees growing over each other and deep pockets of shadows. I listen closely, but the wildlife is silent and hidden. There’s a path, stamped into existence by countless wandering travelers of old, that leads deeper into the woods. But it’s narrow and we’re forced to climb off our horses and lead them by the reins. Father goes in first, pausing to look up and down the road before heading in. I follow after and Mother brings up the rear. 

The trees reach to the heavens, surrounding us in deep yellows, greens and browns. We step on slick leaves and needles that fell with the change in weather. And buried among the wilderness are signs of eras gone by. There a wooden gate, the beams sinking down from the weight of vines that wrap around it. Here an old campsite with moss covering the stones set in a circle for a firepit. Squinting in the dark, I manage to spot the skeletons of an old home. The door hangs from the hinges, the roof collapsed in and the yard reclaimed by the wild. 

Father spots it too and smiles at something in the distance. He hands his horse to me and Mother and I watch as he skips and leaps across fallen trees to an apple tree. He picks off several apples, cradling them in his hands as he returns to us. 

“A snack,” he says, offering one to me. 

“For luck?” I bit into it. It’s crisp and fresh, the flesh a sweet melody on my tongue. Father jostles my hair, but doesn’t respond. He hands an apple to Mother and deposits the remaining fruit in one of my side saddle bags. We continue on. 

The arches of my feet begin to ache by the time we finally reach the vault: a weather-beaten, grey castle with crumbling towers and a drawbridge with rusted chains attached to it. My heart hammers in my chest as I gawk at this structure. There are chips in the stone walls and I imagine arrows flying through the air in the heat of battle, aimed at armored soldiers on the upper ramparts. 

“The entrance is this way,” Mother says. Her voice is a low whisper that I nearly miss. She takes us inside the castle to a set of stairs that run up the side of the building. 

Before entering a vault, my parents always check our supplies, making note of medical equipment, small snacks and the amount of water in our cateens. Everything is usually in order, but today when I pull out my watersack and uncork it, I realize it’s empty. Father checks his and sucks his teeth when he turns it upside down to reveal it’s empty as well. Mother holds hers in her hand and shakes her head. Empty. 

“I’m sorry,” Father says. “I thought I had filled them.”

“It’s fine.” Mother turns in a semi-circle and squints. “I think there’s a river a couple of miles that way. Genevieve, ride out there and fill them up.”

“Then I can enter the vault?”

“Wait a while,” Father says. He stares at something over his shoulder. I suspect he’s trying to find the exact point of entry. “This place is huge. It’ll take some time to clear.”

I sigh and my shoulders fall. I collect their canteens and store them in one of the saddle bags. Father helps me onto my horse. 

“Be safe,” he says. 

“I’m just going to get water.” I laugh, despite my frustration at having to wait so long to enter the vault. “I’ll be back soon.”

“There’s no rush,” Mother says. She and Father share another long look, a message passing between them. “Excalibur isn’t going anywhere.” 

“Alright, I’ll return when I can.” 

Instead of continuing their preparations before entering the vault, Mother and Father stand there and watch as I leave. He places an arm around her shoulder, while her arm slides around his waist. I chance one final glance back, catch them both staring with small smiles and bright eyes. Together, they raise their free hand to wave. I reach as high as I can to wave back. 

Then, following the direction that Mother pointed towards, I kick my horse in the side and ride in a gallop down rolling hills to the river. 

* * *

Finding the river is easy. It takes about thirty minutes to reach, though my horse breathes heavily when we finally come to a rest. I fill up our canteens and store them. And I’m eager to return to the old castle, ready to join my parents and claim this new Piece of Eden for the guild. But my horse is listless and bucks at my attempts to climb in the saddle. I lead him to the river to drink until he’s content, but even then, he refuses to let me ride on his back. So I’m forced to walk alongside him and accept that it will take some time to return to my parents. 

This part of the wilderness seems more lively and I spot foxes, rabbits and birds among the shrubs and branches. I pause and stare, marveling at these animals that race across the land and out of view. 

Father encouraged patience, Mother told me to come into my own as a person. The first part seemed easy. Walk slowly through life to enjoy it. I listen to his words now, taking my time to explore this land that I’ll likely never see again.

But the second part, Mother’s advice seems the hardest. Who am I, if not a future Assassin in the making? I will kill Templars, recover Pieces of Eden and defend the world from authoritarian rule. What else is there?

Something. Something else is there. My parents see it when they look at me. I must discover it for myself. 

After a few minutes of walking, my horse seems rested enough for me to climb into the saddle. But just as I place a foot in the stirrup, I spot another apple tree and pick off four or five to share after the mission. 

“A treat,” I whisper to myself. The horse sighs and flicks its tail when I climb into the saddle, but otherwise seems unbothered. Instead of a gallop, we move in a simple walk, a slow and steady pace. I watch the horizon, waiting for the moment when I spot the castle’s towers creeping over the land.

* * *

My parents’ horses graze on patches of grass in the castle’s courtyard. I lead my horse to the others and brush his neck as he begins to eat. 

Entering a vault is rarely frightening. The first few times I was seized by terror and afraid to move. But now, I’m familiar with the routine my parents laid out and I know they’ve left a trail to follow that I can manage on my own. 

To keep me on the right path, my parents always mark the walls with a blue dye. I follow it down wide halls, through chambers that once held treasure (I always check that the chests are empty before moving on), through closets and storage rooms and down a set of stone steps. The cold rises from the ground and I draw my cloak close to my body to keep warm. 

My parents disabled most traps and the dye on the pressure plates warns me of the ones activated by a simple misplaced step. 

I expect to feel the energy from Excalibur the deeper I travel, but there’s nothing in the air except the chill and my own heavy breathing. I’m not sure how long I travel by myself and whenever I feel fear rise within, I push it back down with the knowledge that my parents are just ahead. 

Descending another set of stairs, I check the walls, but there’s no blue dye. But there's a singular path in front of me and no doors or other hallways to explore. It must be a new test. A chance for me to follow my own instincts and trust in my parents. 

I still don’t sense Excalibur’s presence. But I assume my parents already have it. I picture them seated on the floor, patiently awaiting my arrival. The sword, wrapped in heavy linen, would sit between them and they’d smile at me, rising to pat me on the shoulder before we make our ascent to the surface. 

A stone archway sits at the end of the hallway. 

What would be for dinner tonight, I wonder. Stew most likely. But I hope my parents will ask for something more filling. Roasted chicken. Or thick cuts of steak. Potatoes cooked over an open flame and….

It’s not the puddle that I step in that tells me something wrong. Or the faint, wet wheeze that echoes off the walls. Nor is it my mother’s body, positioned faced down on the stone that makes me gag. 

It’s the smell of iron, a pungent odor that fills the entire chamber, that makes acid burn the back of my throat as bile rises up my stomach. I clasp a hand over my mouth and nose, rushing inside. A stone sinks under my feet and I have mere seconds to slide to the side as a dart cuts through the air, landing with a pitiful sound on the stone. There’s a burning sensation on my shoulder that brings tears to my eye. But I rush ahead anyway, dropping to the floor when I activate another dart and another. 

Father lays against the side of a stone altar on a raised platform. Blood trickles from his mouth and nose and his skin swells from bruising. His dark cloak sticks to him and glistens from more blood. I turn in a circle, try to make sense of what happened. But there’s no clues. Only blood. And that heavy metallic smell. 

I gag, my breakfast threatening to splatter on the ground at my feet. 

“Gene...vieve?”

Looking up, I see Father’s dark eyes on me. I rush to him, collapsing at his side. At the bottom of the platform, Mother lays motionless on her stomach. But I watch closely and see the smallest rise and fall as she takes shallow breaths. 

“What happened?” I ask. Everywhere I look, Father is covered in blood. So much blood. I don’t know how to help. What to patch up first and what to save for later. We’re several feet below ground and there are a series of steps to take to reach the surface. Can I carry them outside? I have to.

Father chuckles, but winces and coughs up blood. “We weren’t patient,” he says through wet breaths. He inhales, the sound rattling against his bones. “A misstep on our part.” He glances around the room and I wonder how many darts wait to sink their iron into unsuspecting flesh. 

I shake my head. “Just wait. I’ll carry you out.” Standing again, I hold him away from the altar, tucking my hands under his shoulders. He groans from pain, while I groan from the exertion. But it’s no use. I can only lift him a few inches off the ground and my arms burn from the effort. “I’ll get the horses….” I can get them in then I can try to help my parents on their saddles and then….

“No, it won’t work.” 

“Yes it will!”

He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

“No Father. I have to do something. I...I just have to think.” Maybe there’s a closer exit. Or a town that I can race to. How much blood have my parents lost? How much longer can they last?

“Genevieve….my sweet Genevieve.” Mother’s voice drifts over like the wind sailing over a calm lake. I’m drawn to her, leaving Father’s side to kneel in front of her. Her face twists in pain as she turns her neck to look at me and tears fall from her eyes, mixing with the blood on her cheek. “You have to go alone now.”

“I don’t want to.”

“We don’t want to leave you,” she says. Her words slur together and there’s a distant look in her eyes. When I touch her, my hand is coated in blood, but over that warmth, I feel a cool body. “I’m so sorry.” She shudders from a sob. 

Father calls my name again and reluctantly, I leave Mother’s side. His hand shakes from exhaustion as he cups my cheek. “Listen carefully,” he says through heavy breaths. “Return to the inn tonight. In the morning, rise and ride to London. Go back to the hotel. Wait three days.”

“No.” It’s a strangled, broken note. So much waiting. I want to scream. 

“Find a Brother. They’re all over the city. Tell them you haven’t heard from us in a while.” He pauses to catch his breath. I wish I thought to bring in one of the canteens for them to drink from. “They will find us.”

Finally, I acknowledge my tears. I cover my mouth with a hand, but it’s not enough to contain my sobs. I lean into his chest, clutching at his cloak as I cry and beg him to let me help. He hugs me and presses his lips against my hair. Over my tears, I hear a quiet apology. 

“The room is safe now. We took the brunt of it. But be careful.”

“Please Father,” I cry. “Let me help.”

His arms tighten around me. “We love you Genevieve.”

* * *

Mother goes first, her final breath a whisper that dies part way through. Father follows minutes later. I listen to his heart as it slows, before stilling completely. I pray for another beat, for another breath, for another moment. But his chest is silent, his arms cold. I’m covered in his blood and when I pull away from him, I’m struck by the slight smile on his face as though he greeted death warmly and with open arms. Mother looks as if she’s sleeping and if I hadn’t heard her last exhale, I’d think she was indeed resting. 

My hollowness consumes every emotion. Anger. Loathing. Sadness. Disbelief. They’re all sucked in to this wide nothingness that falls over me. 

My parents are like stone when I kiss their cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

I follow Father’s instructions:

“Return to the inn.” ( _ The temperature has dropped. I can see my breath. I keep my hood over my eyes, blend into the shadows so no one notices me. I’m not hungry. I sleep and wake to flakes of dried blood on my bed. I open the window and seconds later, something acidic and wet crawls up my throat and splatters on the grass.) _

“Rise and ride to London.”  _ (On the open road, few pay attention to a lone child. I grip a dagger in my hands. My hidden blade sank in a lake. It takes little time to reach the city. Or maybe it takes the whole day. The sky looks the same as when I left the vault. Dark. Starless. Cold.) _

“Go back to the hotel.”  _ (They do not blink when I return to my room. The staff does not inquire about my parents. I climb the stairs to the fourth floor, drops of water rolling down my face onto the carpet. Boats travel up and down the river. I hear laughter and chatter in the hall. I press my hands against my ears. I hear blood dripping on stone.)  _

“Wait three days.”  _ (I force myself to eat. I hurl in the morning and at night. I can’t sleep. I see too much blood. I scrub and scrub and scrub my body. It’s raw and burns and turns a deeper shade of brown. My arm is warm. I feel Father’s cold chest against my cheek. I continue scrubbing.) _

“Find a Brother. They’re all over the city. Tell them you haven’t heard from us in a while.  _ (The Brother leads me to the Council. Men and women I don’t know and don’t try to remember. Volunteers are gathered. A group goes out. I’m escorted back to my room. I’m given meals and encouraged to eat. I still can’t sleep.) _

“They will find us.”  _ (My hollowness gives way and I feel everything at once. My grief begins with a scream that threatens to shake the foundations of the world.) _

* * *

An accident. 

The official ruling by the London Brotherhood Council. My parents’ items are collected from the horses that were located at the castle. I’m given clothes that smell of Mother and Father, a leather journal, a sack of apples (the ones we picked that day), money from the purses found on their bodies, and their hidden blades, cleaned and free of their blood. 

There is a funeral. Assassins expressed their condolences. Grandfather wept. I wanted to hide in my room. 

I burn my cloak and the clothes from that night. My own private goodbye to my parents. 

I receive letters from friends and acquaintances of my parents. I burn those too. 

I put the guild and that life behind me. I force it in a box. The trainings. The history lessons. The trips around the globe. Anything tainted by the Brotherhood is no use to me and I purge it from my mind. 

I am not an Assassin. 

I am not a Rainforth, undeserving of that name and that legacy.

I am an orphan. 

I am alone. 

* * *

“I could go over the time after their burial up until now,” I say to Evie, Henry and Jacob. I turn back to the window, wiping at my eyes. “But it’s all boring, I think. And not relevant. So, that’s it I guess.” I shrug and face the small group. 

It’s Evie’s shattered expression, the lack of light in her eyes, the tremble of her bottom lip, the slack in her shoulders, that drives a stake through my walls. I replay those final days, noting all of my parents’ shared glances and vague responses to my questions, those asides spoken from the corners of their mouth as if not meant for my ears. So many clues. I missed them all. 

“Oh.”

The first sob comes as a hiccup. The second just as broken. And then I’m falling apart, hugging my knees to my chest as my heart is held in a vice, ripped from my chest and once again held over my head by that tremendous beast that is grief. My first and oldest foe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Genevieve is absolutely in a bad way after retelling the story of how her parents died. Luckily Evie is there and will do all she can to make her feel better. So expect some fluff next chapter!
> 
> Take care and stay safe! And thanks for showing this story so much love!!


End file.
